The Color of Oblivion
by Mangascribbler
Summary: A demon who lives on the outskirts of the village has an unusual guest one day: a blind human girl from the town. Being unaware of what and who he is, she stays with him for a time, saying that even though she lost her way and wandered to his home, the next time she came would not be a mistake; he is a lovely person, she says. He almost wants to laugh when she says this. Almost.
1. Demon

**A/N: Hello everyone! I have been… hibernating? I guess hibernating, as far as writing goes. To be honest, I am afraid to post this, as I do not see it as an adequate work… however, after much convincing, I am putting up my first Ulquihime story. I hope you all enjoy this! Another post will be coming this Saturday for those who are interested. Your feedback means a lot to me, so please review, and thanks for reading :) **

Demon

"_Here he comes, the demon."_

_ "I heard he fled from the mainland after being found to have killed several men… and then eaten the hearts of their women!"_

_ "He can't be human. Look at his eyes!"_

_ "His eyes…."_

_ "Forget his eyes, pale as a corpse that man is…. Must be a spirit, nothing else for it,"_

_ "A demon," _

_ "A demon,"_

_ "Demon…."_

The terrified whispers did not escape the ears of the man at which they were directed. The streets cleared before him as he walked, eyes cast upon the stones at his sandaled feet, black nailed hands hidden in the sleeves of his kosode. The garment was black with white edging and tied with a white obi, the lacquer sheathed katana hanging from his waist his only possession of value.

He had come into the small rural village to buy ink and paper. He lived in a house in the deep woods that rimmed the village, spending his days of self-inflicted solitary confinement writing music and playing his shamisen. Paper was a valuable commodity, however, and the man was not rich by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, he had nothing better to do, and to keep the company of the human trash that surrounded him was unthinkable.

He continued his walk, shaggy black hair loose, free of the commonly accepted topknot, worn sandals scuffing the dirt. There was a sudden cry as he came upon a child of no more than eight, at the most, in his path.

The shout came from the dismayed people that edged the streets as they awaited what they thought to be the obvious demise of the child. The man had never killed anyone in their sight, so why was it that they thought he would do anything now? He would never understand the humans, strange as they were, being governed by their emotions. He had no use for such things.

Not that he held an ounce of mercy in his heart that would spare the child from his blade either, for compassion was a waste of time, but it simply was that he did not feel like squandering energy killing a brat or any of the rest of the filth that lived in the village without provocation. There was no point, no meaning to it… but there was no point in anything at all, was there? His face displayed no feeling as he gazed down on the young girl.

"U-um…. Would you like to buy a flower…?" she squeaked, knowing of his reputation. He was the one who mothers threatened they're children with when they were ill-behaved. She proffered him a marigold and a buttercup, hand shaking.

The man took the flowers from her, and he saw her wince at his pale skin and blackened nails as he did so. Emerald eyes, brilliant, sharp, and cold, like a spear of ice, met terrified brown for an instant before the man switched his gaze back to the flower.

"The marigold," he murmured, "the sign of despair… and the buttercup, the flower of oblivion."

He handed the girl a coin, placing the flowers in the inside pocket of his kosode, returning his hands to his sleeves and once again hiding them among the folds of black cloth. There was a disbelieving silence in the street behind him as he entered the shop he had come for.

Despair and oblivion… what a fitting pair.

At the sight of his face, the shop owner stopped what he was doing, freezing in the act of placing a stack of fine-cut paper on the counter.

"U-ulquiorra-sama!" the man gasped fearfully, adding an unnecessary suffix of respect, brought on by his alarm, "I-I wasn't expecting you so… so soon," the man swallowed nervously.

Ulquiorra approached the counter and placed the rest of the coins he had on him on the counter, silently taking the top bit of paper off the stack and turning to leave. He felt no urge to frighten the spineless paper maker any further.

He walked back to his home, weaving between the trees and around the fallen giants that lay across the path. He heard a sudden weak chirping from the path ahead of him, and looked to the side. There lay a baby bird, not even feathered yet, struggling on the broken path.

Without sympathy, Ulquiorra stepped on it, silencing its cries. The strong ate the weak, that was the way of the merciless world in which he lived. He looked at the clean documents in his hands.

The paper was pale white, now stained with flecks crimson….

The colors of oblivion and of empty despair.

…

"It seems he was in town again today," a girl with pink hair fretted, "Rumor is, he attacked a little girl!" she tugged at the sleeve of her rose colored kimono, "I think he really must be a demon, that man! A few call him the Horobito, the lost man, saying that he only comes out of the forest to exact vengeance on those who didn't search for him when he went missing in life. Others call him Nakiotoko, the weeping man because of the marks on his face. Maybe he's a ghost?"

"Chizuru, you shouldn't believe everything you hear… and stop touching Orihime!" a second girl, with short dark hair snapped. She was dressed in a kimono of deep blue, a butterfly stitched on the left side of the chest in golden yellow thread.

"Ah… it's fine Tatsuki, don't worry yourself," the third girl, this one with long fiery hair. She was dressed in an orange and white checkered kimono that only reached her knees, her feet unadorned, but a white cloth tied around her head, covering her eyes. She pushed the hand of the first woman away from her rather large and busty chest, smiling slightly at Tatsuki.

"Poor Hime, though! You need all the love you can get!" Chizuru cried, "Your brother… and your eyes…. I'll never forgive those bandits as long as I live!"

"How do you think _she _feels about it?" Tatsuki asked sardonically, adding so that only Chizuru could hear, "Don't bring it up if it might be painful for her."

"It's alright," Orihime said with a grin, "I get by without seeing… and everyone helps me! I've already gotten used to the darkness. It doesn't bother me that much."

"Orihime…" Tatsuki said softly, anguish for her friend painting her tone. The red head stood up and smoothed her garb.

"I should be going," she said, her bubbly smile widening, "there is something I want to try cooking… don't worry, I won't light the fire without help!" she laughed, as if she could see the worry on her friend's faces.

"Do you want us to walk you back home?" Chizuru asked helpfully, cringing as Tatsuki punched her in the arm to wipe the perverted smirk off her face.

"No, no, I don't want to trouble you! I'll find my way just fine, I've walked the route a thousand times or more," Orihime stepped toward the door and placed a hand gently on the frame before stepping out.

Her steps carried her confidently down the familiar path, her bare feet guiding her rather than her eyes. The stones beneath her toes warm, and all unique to her heightened sense of touch. Her sharp ears did not miss the twittering of the birds as they settled into their nests for the night.

Orihime sped her pace. To be caught outside at night would be bad; even if she found her way home quickly, it was autumn, and getting cold early. Without shoes she might get frostbite, and without the ability to see it, how would she know? Frostbite made one numb…

She suddenly stumbled over an unfamiliar object. Twisting on her hands and knees she felt around for the cause of her fall, her scraped hands eventually encountering the end of fallen sappling, the bark stripped away, the soft wood full of furrows from beetles. The texture was amazing, she could have spent forever running her aching fingers over it, but she could no longer feel the sunlight that had previously warmed her. She staggered upright, intent of finding her way back home. Blood trickled down her leg from a small scrape on her knee.

The girl walked in what she thought was the direction of the village, but she only encountered twigs that whipped her face, logs that stumbled her feet, and low branches that punched her midriff. She began to go more slowly, fearful of falling somewhere that she couldn't get out of. She had told Tatsuki that she had become accustomed to darkness, which was true to some extent. She was fine in areas that she knew.

But she was still scared.

She stretched out her hands, groping into the air, searching for something, anything to grasp. Her fingertips suddenly encountered smooth-cut wood. Not a tree, or a broken branch, but a plank chinked with mud. She felt further, and suddenly her hands met cloth that gave way beneath her touch. It was obviously the door, but she could hear no movement. Perhaps the house was empty?

As she pushed the rags aside to enter the home, a voice startled her.

"You won't find anything of value in my home, thief," the voice informed her. The sound was flat, empty, and without warmth, but somehow comforting and silky-smooth. Orihime smiled and whirled around.

"I thought I was alone!" she laughed in relief.

Ulquiorra stared in disbelief. At first he had thought that the girl was simply incredibly bold for breaking into the home of a 'demon'; then it occurred to him that she was maybe stupid and trying to rob him of his worthless items. But _blind_… it made sense, he supposed. There was no pity in his heart, only mild surprise. But the strong ate the weak, and being sightless could certainly be seen as a weakness, especially in the era of war in which they lived.

"You may as well be alone," he answered icily, walking past her and entering his home without inviting her inside.

"Wait," she called, "can I come in?"

"Can you?" he echoed coolly as he set down his purchased stack of paper on the ink-stained table that he used desk in the far corner, "I don't know,"

There was a giggle, and then she asked, "May I?"

Ulquiorra looked toward the cloth that served as his door and stared at the girl. She was already half way into his home; she was cut, bruised, and dirty, and probably tired. Humans were weak creatures after all.

"I suppose you're lost?" he sighed.

"What would give you that idea?" she wondered with obvious bravado. Ulquiorra blinked slowly.

"So, woman, you came here of your own accord?" his voice was so comforting, but she just didn't know _why_…. Was it because it the first new voice she had heard since she lost her sight? He knew nothing about her, that would make for a fresh start… or perhaps because his emotions were a challenge to define because of his monotone? She thought that mostly the relief of finding human company at night in the woods contributed a large part of her feeling as well.

"Well, not exactly…" Orihime answered, scrunching her nose.

"I thought not," there was a muffled swish as Ulquiorra turned to face the stranger straight on, a soft sounded that almost obscured a softer whisper, "No one ever would come here of their own free will." Then louder, "Well, woman, come inside; there are wolves this far into the forest. Be careful not to trip."

"Oh, um, thank you!" Orihime made a short bow as she slipped inside, sliding her feet cautiously across the bumpy rush mats that covered the floor, lest there was a step or furniture that blocked her path. Her foot soon encountered a tattered cushion. She knelt on it, feeling in front of her and finding the customary low table. Parts of it were sticky with flecks of ink, but she chose not to question it.

"So, woman, now that you are in my home, who are you?" the man asked bluntly.

"I'm Orihime Inoue," said woman replied cheerily, "What about you?"

"I'm no one important," he told her in his monotone, and Orihime chose not to pry any farther. It was enough that he had invited her into his house without knowing a lick about her.

It was enough.


	2. Stories to Tell

**A/N: Hi again everyone! I got a lot better response than I expected, and I really want to thank all of you for reading, and more so to those who left me some feed back!  
To lilarin: Sorry about that, but if I didn't give Chizuru her trademark hair color, I wouldn't have been able to give Ichigo or Orihime **_**their **_**hair color either, so I figured I should play it safe as far as that went.  
To nikosoup: Your message didn't come through, so I'm thinking that the huge blank space should have held something… hahaha! I'm open to suggestions of course :)  
Okay, on with the story then! I will try to get my updates out every Saturday and Wednesday.**

Stories to Tell

Orihime scraped the sides of the wooden bowl she was eating from free of rice, scooping the last stray grains into her mouth with zeal, using a pair of finely lacquered chopsticks that were smooth to the touch. As she finished, she noticed the lack of other sounds of eating. Placing her bowl down and the chopsticks atop it, she swallowed and turned her face in the direction of her silent companion.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked with mild concern. Or perhaps he had already eaten? Though it wasn't late, it was a possibility.

"You were using my only pair of chopsticks," the man answered flatly. A flush of slight guilt crept into the blind girl's cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize… you should have said something!" she protested. There was a small sound of dissent, and Orihime reached forward to pick up the bowl again and ask where he wanted her to put it, but her fingers only encountered the dimpled wood of the table.

"The bowl…." She cried, feeling around for it, wondering if it had fallen from the table and she had somehow missed the clatter it must have created.

Ulquiorra looked over his shoulder as he took the container back to its cabinet, "I have it,"

The red head sighed with relief and embarrassment, passing a tired hand over her eyes. She missed them. She wanted to see the color of the sky, watch the rain as it kissed the earth, see the face of the man before her…. She was tired of the never ending blackness which would inevitably stretch before her for the rest of her life. It didn't often come to her mind, the thought of living forever in darkness; she liked to take things day by day. When it did occur to her, however… The man spoke, and Orihime was surprised by his bluntness.

"You weren't born without sight, were you, woman?" he asked passionlessly, as if he had no interest in the matter. The girl gave a sad smile and shook her head.

"Do you mind if I tell you how this happened?" she murmured, fingering the cloth that bound her head. It was of a rough weave, and she could feel the individual threads tugging and shifting under her touch.

"The night is long," he replied, his footsteps coming closer to her. There was a soft _flump_ as he resumed his seat on the cushion across the table from her. Her smile widened.

"That it is," Orihime said in answer, taking a deep breath and beginning her narrative.

…..

_ "Onii-chan," Orihime called, plodding through the snow toward the small shack at the edge of the village. She is fourteen, five years younger than the present, her cold hands holding a bundle of dry twigs. "Onii-chan, I brought back some kindling, and I found a few greens buried under the ice."_

_ Sora Inoue turned to face his beloved younger sister, the sight of her filling him with both sorrow and joy, bittersweet pride welling up in him. She is so beautiful, her eyes the same color as the blue daisies that grew in front of their home in the spring. She was the sky princess, and he was the sky. Rightly she ruled over him in her own special way, as he cared for her more than anything else, even himself._

_ "Good job," he praises with a smile, tousling her long sunset colored hair, "I caught a snowshoe hare, we can have stew tonight."_

_ "Yaaay!" the young girl sang, dancing in the snow before slipping in a patch of ice and landing on her butt with a wince._

_ "Are you alright?" Sora asked, restraining a chuckle; his sister was so innocent and klutzy… she couldn't cook or clean…. But she was great with kids, so he supposed that someday she would make some other man very happy- a man that would make her happy in return or find himself looking down the point of Sora's blade._

_ "I'm fine," she giggled, picking herself up. She glanced at the twigs in her hand with slight disappointment. "But the twigs got all wet… I'll go find new ones." _

_ "Wait, Hime-! Ah, she's gone," Sora sighed and headed inside, "Better clean this rabbit for when she comes back then," he muttered to himself, missing the rustling of the bushes behind him as he shut the door._

…

Orihime fell silent for a long moment.

"Is that all?" the man asked, a tint of curiosity barely detectable to her keen ears.

"No," she said quietly, "It's just that the next part is painful."

"You don't have to speak if you don't want to."

"I don't want to," she said with a melancholy smile in his direction, "but I need to."

…

_Orihime skittered back toward the house, and even before she had come within ten feet of the building she knew something was wrong. The snow outside was churned up with a myriad of footprints and the light inside was flickering under the door as if people were rushing around the rooms._

_ Orihime started to run as she heard muffled yelling from inside. _

_ "I told you, there's nothing of value! I live alone here, chopping wood for a small living!" It was Sora's voice that she heard. Why would he say that he lived alone? Why was he lying? To _whom _was he lying?_

_She prepared to push open the door as a sickening splattering was heard, following and dull _theeeew-ktsh-wock_, the same sound the rabbits made when Sora cut their heads off at the chopping block…. Only this was much louder. _

_ Her body moved of its own accord and she shoved open the roughly cut wooden door with panic, stumbling into the room._

_ "On-Onii…. Onii-chan!" Orihime screamed, looking for him in the room. It was full of strange men dressed in tattered armor, their faces thin and starved. There were blood… bloodstains…. Bloodstains on their clothes… and on their swords… and on the wall…. And on her feet._

_ Blood was everywhere, seeping over the wooden floors, dripping through the planks, soaking into the bamboo mats and the cushions that they slept on. _

_ She finally spotted her brother… or his body at least. It lay slumped in the corner, cleanly separated from the head. Orihime threw up and closed her eyes, falling to her knees and trembling._

_ "What, don't you want to see?" one of the men crooned to her, running his bloody fingers down the side of her face and onto her chest. Orihime kept her eyes closed and shook her head violently._

_ "Come on, don't be like that, wench. Take a look!" another man laughed. Orihime cracked open her eyes, reacting only to the command. Sora's face stared back at her, only the rims of his dark irises showing where his eyes had rolled back in his head. _

_ Orihime screamed and shut her eyes again, vowing never to open them if it meant seeing something like that a second time. Her eyes were closed, but she could still see him, in her head, the image burned into her mind, the image seemingly imprinted onto the inside of her eyelids._

_ "NO!" she shrieked, becoming incoherent._

_ "Oh shut up, bitch," the man who seemed to be the leader growled casually. There was no warning of what he did next. Swinging his blade with pinpoint precision, he slit Orihime's eyes, blinding her, but not giving her injury enough to die by. "You don't want to see, fine. I've made it so that you'll never see anything again."_

_ He then grabbed her by her hair and tore off her clothes, using her in ways she didn't know were even possible. She struggled, flailing and biting, but it only seemed to amuse him, and it was dawn before the thieves finished with her._

_ She lay naked, blind, and bruised in a pool of congealing blood, sobbing. She was sobbing but there were no tears. Her eyes no longer functioned._

_ She was broken now. Broken beyond repair so that no one would ever want her again. Her parents had abandoned her, now Sora was gone. No one would ever want her after this. _

_ No one._

…_._

"I see," the man said calmly. Orihime was taking in ragged breaths now. The back of her throat ached, like she wanted to cry, but she knew no tears would fall. She could never cry again, out of joy, or out of sorrow.

Ulquiorra examined the girl somewhat unenthusiastically. So she really was weak, beyond her lost eyesight. The weakest thing anyone could _ever_ do was love, and it was obvious that she had loved her brother a great deal.

The greatest expression of strength was complete and utter nihilism. If you had nothing to lose, no one could ever take anything away from you.

The woman released a dry sob, and he noticed that her shoulders were shaking violently as if she were crying her heart out, but no tears came through the cloth that hid her eyes.

"Can you not weep, woman?" he asked, her face reflecting on his emerald eyes as he scrutinized her. She shook her head and forced a wry little smile, her bottom lip trembling. "Then we are the same, you and I."

Her face turned toward him in and expression of surprise, but before she said anything else he unrolled a blanket.

"It is late, and you should sleep," he told her, effectively ending the conversation.

"Thank you," she murmured as her fingers guided her across the floor to the futon, "for listening, and for your hospitality."

Ulquiorra did not answer, but he instead extinguished the candle that had lit the room and stepped outside.

He lifted his worn shamisen from where it leaned on the side of the house and laid it across his lap as he sat with his back against a nearby tree.

A full moon hovered above the trees, casting everything in silver and onyx, the only colors coming from those frosty emerald eyes, the gaze of a demon in the woods, a gleam of fire in a frozen world.

…..

Orihime woke and stretched in what she guessed was midmorning by the sounds of the birds twittering in the background. She stood and combed her fingers through her hair, straightening her kimono.

Noticing that her companion was absent from the building, she felt her way to the door, being careful not to stumble. Pushing her way through the cloth entrance, she halted and gasped. Flowing from a few feet away was a beautiful melody that sounded sad and unbearably empty, like the feeling of loss at the death of a loved one.

At her sharp inhalation the music stopped abruptly, however, and there was rustling as the man stood. A clunk was heard, likely from the instrument being put down.

"Are you leaving now?" he asked her, approaching where she stood.

"Oh," Orihime said in surprise, "Yes, I should be getting back to the village… but I'll come back."

"You can't," he replied flatly, and she smiled.

Turning away from him she called over her shoulder, "You're a nice man."

Ulquiorra only snorted and turned his back on her, retrieving his shamisen and returning inside. Orihime's grin widened and she began her way back to the village, feeling the landmarks she had tripped over the night before.


	3. Ironworks

**A/N: Hello all! This is the third chapter of Oblivion, a story that will be a total of thirteen chapters. I wanted to thank you all again for reading and reviewing, and hope you enjoy this!  
Rin Sessys Girl: Ulquiorra is in fact a demon, to answer your question, my flamer-killer! Hahaha X)  
smylealong: I'm glad you are enjoying it so much! It makes me really happy that people can enjoy my work :D  
**

Ironworks

Ichigo Kurosaki got up a bit late that morning, despite the fact that he had been intent on going to the smithy to temper his blade a few final times. Now that it was midmorning, he'd have little time for personal interests, Rukia included in that category, as he'd have plenty of requests to fill: farming tools, kitchen knives, spears, hunting equipment and the like.

In another part of the house he could hear his sisters and father, rushing about in the room that had been reserved solely for physician's work. The spiky haired boy made a face at that thought; he really was useless when it came to patching people up… he excelled in dealing damage, not reversing it.

He hurriedly pulled on his tan kosode and a pair of trousers, stepping into his sandals and hastily out the door, calling a farewell to his family, which he heard faintly echoed by Karin as the door shut behind him.

He had only made it a few paces down the stone paved path, however, when a voice halted him in his tracks.

"Kurosaki!"

Thinking it was the scribe, Ishida, Ichigo turned with sigh, preparing to snap at the assailant and go about his work, but instead he found himself face to face with Tatsuki, his childhood friend.

"Tatsuki?" he cried in surprise, backing up a bit as he found himself nose to nose with the girl, "You usually don't come over here, what's up?"

"Did Orihime come home last night?" the black haired girl asked with mild panic, her usually untamed black hair more wild than usual. Orihime lived in the house next door to the Kurosaki family, so they had become her unofficial caretakers, helping her with cooking and cleaning when she needed it.

Ichigo scratched his head thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowing lower than his typical frown.

"Well…. Now that you mention it, no…" he said with realization dawning on his features, "We figured that she had stayed with you, but… when was the last time you saw her?"

Tatsuki looked extremely worried. She clutched at the sleeve of her kimono and stared at the boy in front of her.

"Last night, when she walked home by herself, that _fool_!" Her voice was harsh, but Ichigo knew that she was worried. Very, _very_ worried.

"Who's a fool?"

The pair turned to see a bruised, disheveled Orihime stumble out of the bushes with only one sandal. Though she had a cut on her knee and scrapes on her hand, she sounded as if she had done nothing more than go for an evening stroll.

"Orihime!" Tatsuki shouted, jumping the rickety wooden railing that guarded the cobbled steps to Ichigo's house. The red head in question smiled and opened her mouth to speak, only to cry out when Tatsuki smacked her upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Ichigo came around the railing, rather than jumping it, for fear that as weak as the wood was that it would break under his weight.

"Were you lost in there all night?" he asked. Orihime flushed as she heard his voice, and she was glad that her face was covered in cloth and dirt to hide it.

"Oh, I got lost, but there was a house with a nice man inside, and we had rice, but he couldn't eat because I used his only pair of chopsticks, and…." Orihime stopped babbling and checked herself for a moment. Talking to Ichigo always made her sound like an idiot. Clearing her throat with embarrassment she said, "As you can see, I made it through the night alright."

"A man?" Ichigo wondered as Tatsuki wiped dirt of Orihime's face in a very motherly action, "What was his name?"

"When I asked him, he simply said," Orihime changed her voice, imitating the flat, slightly melancholy tones of her host from the night before, "'No one important,'"

She burst out laughing, as if at some inside joke, Tatsuki and Ichigo exchanging glances. Ichigo raised an eyebrow and Tatsuki shrugged, shaking her head.

"So you stayed with a stranger?" Tatsuki poked Orihime in the forehead, "That's dangerous."

"Well it's not really my fault… I found his house and was about to go in, but he thought I was a thief! So then he went inside and said that there were wolves around where he lived and that I should go inside…" Orihime pouted slightly, "I can take care of myself!"

Tatsuki laughed, "I wasn't trying to imply that you couldn't." she took her friend by the wrist and began to lead her away from Ichigo, "We should go see Chizuru, she was practically in hysterics when I told her I couldn't find you."

"Oh… bye, Kurosaki-kun!" she called over her shoulder as she was pulled away. Ichigo waved before looking stupidly at his hand and realizing that she couldn't see it.

"Bye!" he shouted almost too late. He smacked himself in the forehead for his own forgetfulness before remembering that he was supposed to be in the smithy.

He didn't think he'd ever run that fast in his life.

….

Ulquiorra stared at the papers scattered over his desk. The ones that had been flecked with blood he had thrown out, as they'd been useless; writing on soiled paper was like fighting with a rusted blade: doable, but annoying.

He sighed, narrowing his vibrant eyes with a small show of frustration. He didn't have enough paper now, though he was _loathe _to go back to the village just for that. Out of habit, he loosened his blade in its scabbard with a soft _snick_. The habit was so thoroughly ingrained in him that he didn't notice he'd done it until he heard the familiar sound. Looking down at the sliver of gleaming metal that was now visible, Ulquiorra came to a decision.

He'd go to town to buy paper, but also to get his blade patched up. It hadn't been used in a long time, and the crack it had received in the final battle he had fought was still there. The katana would shatter if it took more abuse, so it had to be fixed.

The demon sighed again, more annoyed than frustrated now.

How he hated dealing with humans.

…..

Ichigo slammed his hammer down in another fierce stroke, spraying sparks into the air like tiny fireworks, a drop of sweat falling from his bared chest onto the cherry red metal and turning to steam, hissing for an instant like a viper. He thrust the crimson bar into a trough of water, the hiss rebounded a thousand fold and causing the liquid to boil. The instrument he was making, an actual _sword _this time, was beginning to take shape. It was still rough, but it would get there; the customer who had ordered it had sent the request through the mail, asking for three blades, all of his best work. Ichigo had then moved those three works to the top of his priority list. He liked making swords better than forging kitchen knives any day.

He turned to the bellows, the loose kosode tied around his waist swinging as he moved. Pumping his arms in a steady rhythm, the fire began to flare hotter… but it still needed more fuel and time in order for it to hit just the right temperature. After adjusting the inferno, the red head walked over to the entrance of his shop, leaning against the doorframe and taking a swig from his flask of fresh water, mopping sweat off his brow with a rag tucked into his obi.

He was about to turn back to the forge when he heard a tide of whispering, like wind in the trees. Turning his gaze back to the street, he caught sight of a drifting male figure, face hidden by ragged black hair, hands covered by his black sleeves, the crowd parting before him. He seemed to be coming in the direction of the forge.

Ichigo caught sight of the scabbard hanging at the man's waist, as well as the shamisen slung over his shoulder by its strap, the instrument itself across his back. He was a short man, shorter than Ichigo, that was for sure, and slighter too…. But that was no gauge of strength. There was a wiry, dangerous feel about the man that Ichigo all at once respected and hated.

The man raised his face, and the red head noticed first the deathly pallor in the man's skin, for it was bone white; then the marks upon his face, two thin, dark lines trailing from the rims of his lids and down his cheeks like inky tears; finally his eyes, which were a piercing, icy emerald color.

Was he perhaps the demon everyone spoke of?

A firm believer that one should never be judged by appearance, but not one to trust easily, Ichigo nodded to the man just as the papermaker in the shop next door exited his building. The pale man gave Ichigo a dispassionate stare and returned the gesture after a moment's deliberation. The papermaker, Kobayashi, started violently, paper scattering across the cobbled street.

"U-Ulquiorra!" he gasped violently, "W-why… you were here just yesterday!"

"Ah," the pale man, Ulquiorra, Ichigo surmised, answered in a flat, depressing tone that was somehow familiar, "the paper from yesterday was… soiled; I had need of more." Those unnerving green eyes lit upon Ichigo, "And also, I have a blade in need of repair." He gestured to the katana at his hip.

Ichigo nodded again, this time in affirmation rather than greeting.

"Don't do business with this…. This…. _Thing_!" Kobayashi, "It's not human! But it's neither animal, nor spirit, nor god! A demon, through and through!"

"Say what you will," Ulquiorra said coldly, "I care not for you petty humans, you trash. If you insist, I will take my coin elsewhere."

Kobayashi swallowed nervously, and Ichigo did nothing but watch the exchange, ignoring the fact that the forge was either overheating or getting cold. This was the first he had actually seen the demon that everyone in town was talking about. Sure he looked a little different, and he was definitely not the type of person to trifle with, and rude, certainly, but all the same…

"Well," Ichigo sighed, "Come in I suppose."

He turned and reentered the forge, leaving Kobayashi sputtering in the street with shock as Ulquiorra followed the blade smith into his shop.

"Draw the blade and tell me what you want done," the young smith told his customer, "and I'll tell you the price and how long it will take."

The katana rasped on the sheath as it was drawn, a sound only produced by the best of materials, only to be used by those trained to the highest degree of blade mastery. The steel shone almost blue, proof of how well it was tempered, the trademark cobalt waves shimmering along the edge as a testament as to how often it had been heated and refolded. It was a beautiful instrument, one that made Ichigo almost jealous of whoever possessed such skill in crafting.

Ulquiorra laid the blade out, and the bladesmith gazed on it with dismay. A long, jagged crack ran across the blade, near the hilt; it looked as if one more battle might finish off the masterpiece blade.

"Murcielago," Ulquiorra murmured.

"What?"

"The name of my blade," the demon stated, jade eyes flicking up to meet Ichigo's gaze, "is Murcielago."

"How did it get this fracture in the metal? It's a beautifully crafted weapon…" the sword smith wondered.

"I tried and failed to protect my lord," Ulquiorra replied emotionlessly, "and as the rest of my kin, once the master was dead, we scattered. Unfortunately, in the fighting, many of us lost or broke our weapons… they are dear to us, as they were given to us by the master."

"A feudal lord that you served under?" Ichigo asked, examining the blade closer.

"It is unimportant," again, Ichigo had the feeling that he'd heard something similar to the before, "How long will it take to repair?"

"Hm…. Well, I'll move it up to my priority list, but the earliest I can get it to you is three weeks, maybe a month; I have an order for three swords stacked up already."

"I see… then I will anticipate seeing my newly repaired Murcielago in three weeks time."

The pale man exited the forge, leaving Ichigo confused, and slightly annoyed.

Such a short man… in both height and in personality.

…

"Orihime, where are you going?" Tatsuki asked, noticing her friend loitering near the edge of the woods. The red head turned to face the brunette, and Tatsuki narrowed her eyes in sympathy pain; Orihime had removed the rag covering her eyes for a moment's respite.

Eyes that had once been blue were now pale gray, and a thin, jagged scar extended across the bridge of her nose and formed a small spike at the outer corner of each eye.

"I'm…. well, it's nothing," she answered with a smile, heading back toward her friend.

In truth she had been listening.

Listening in the hopes that maybe, just _maybe_, the wind would turn in such a way that it might carry the melancholy notes of a shamisen out of the forest.


	4. Comprehension Check

**A/N: Welcome back everyone! For once, I'm not posting at somewhere around midnight where I live! It is currently 3 PM. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as well! :D  
Rin Sessys Girl: I think you can read my mind. Seriously. 0_0**

Comprehension Check

Ulquiorra rose early on the fourth day of waiting for Murcielago to be repaired; he intended to play his shamisen to the light of the sunrise. It was a habit he had been unable to shake, even after leaving Aizen's group of fools once left leaderless. There was no longer any reason for him to strum the delicate strings and produce the melody he had played so often in the past, no reason for his pale fingers to dance upon the chords, but he allowed the music to flow all the same. It calmed him.

This particular morning, however, he had the desire to travel closer to the edge of the forest. It was difficult to see the coming morning from his home so deep in the shadowed woods, after all. He came to a fork in a low tree and sat in it, shamisen across his lap. He capped his fingers with the black picks that he used to play and began to pluck at the strings, forming a forlorn harmony that bespoke of things lost, things that had never been, and things that would never be.

Ulquiorra bent his head low over the instrument, watching the wires vibrate, blur beneath his gaze for an instant before coming to a standstill. The birds that roosted all over the forest began to sing, carrion crows, largebill crows, wood pigeons and woodpeckers taking wing; in the distance, a crane stood in sharp relief against the sky.

And still Ulquiorra played his haunted melody.

…..

Orihime was woken that morning by what sounded like a cursed lullaby, threading through Tatsuki's window. Having fallen asleep at her friend's house the night earlier, she couldn't be more shocked that she could hear the mysterious notes, the ones that she had been waiting for, from Tatsuki's home and not her own. Then again, it made sense; when she had gotten lost, it had been coming home from where Tatsuki lived.

"Mmmm…" the dark haired girl's voice was filled with the dreamy quality of sleepers, "what's that sound…?"

Orihime dashed out of the house, hurriedly tying her customary cloth over her eyes. She heard Tatsuki call out after her, and ignored her friend, too excited to answer. Though she could feel sunlight on her face, all was dark, as always. Her feet were scuffed by stones, but she didn't stop, following the beautiful sound like a bee followed the scent to a sweet flower. As she got closer, however, the music halted abruptly, the way the shy cicadas did if one stepped to close to their hiding places.

Orihime stopped as well, slightly disoriented without the music to follow.

"Hello?" she called softly, "You're there, right? I've been looking for you,"

There was a muffled thud as the person jumped from up in the tree branches, and a crunch as his sandaled feet broke twigs and crackled dying undergrowth. Orihime started and backed up a pace as she felt a breath close to her face; she swallowed, hoping desperately that she had not made a mistake and called upon some random traveler.

"Why would you search for me?" the murmur came from behind her, directly beside her ear. She had to contain her joy, for it was indeed the person she had sought. The quiet monotone assured her of that. She started anyway though, for she had been under the impression that the man had been in front of her, when really he had been behind. She did not often make such mistakes.

"How do you do that? Move so quietly, I mean," Oihime asked him.

"You avoid the question, woman," he replied lowly, "Why did you seek me?"

"Well…. You're a nice man, like I said before… and… I like how you don't treat me with pity just because I can't see. I don't enjoy being pitied. I want to be able to do something for someone too." Orihime's voice was strong, imbued with a slight underlying tone of bitterness that was well covered by her determination.

"I see," the voice said, retreating a bit. Orihime turned around and put a hand out, searching, catching the man's sleeve as he made to leave. "You will not release me?" he asked.

Orihime shook her head with a small smile, "I want to talk to you again."

"Not here," he responded, beginning to walk away. Orihime kept hold of the cloth in her hand and followed closely behind the man, guided by his soft, rustling footsteps and by feel. Her feet memorized the path which they walked, and she committed it to one of her most important trails, as she intended to come to the man's house again. The path was truly nothing more than a game trail, pitted and overlaid by dead leaves that felt slick and veiny beneath her touch.

"There is a step here," the man murmured helpfully, "do not fall, for I will not pick you up."

Orihime smiled, and lifted her foot a bit higher, finding the stair with her toes. "Was this here before?"

"You came around the back last time," he told her, "My home is built on uneven ground. Sometimes it floods when it rains. It does not happen often, however."

"I see…." Orihime listened as there was a rustle, presumably the cloth that covered the doorframe, before entering herself. As she stepped onto the bamboo mats, overwhelming curiosity overcame her, "Will you still not tell me your name?"

"Why do you wish to know? I shall not tell you."

"But it's difficult to just call you… _you_… what should I call you then?" Orihime wondered.

"Call me by no name," the man said lowly, "as I said before, it is unimportant. What difference does a name make? A name does not change the nature of things, nor does it do any good to have a label, to have a sense of identity coupled with a name. Attachments are for the weak; the weak cling to things and give out what they call their 'heart' freely. But what becomes of them when the thing they love most is torn away? What becomes of their heart? That is why, if one has nothing, _is _nothing, then it is true happiness."

Orihime pondered his words for a moment, "Are you perhaps a Buddhist monk, mister?" she asked him. She knew Buddhist precepts were based around the fact that worldly attachments tied the soul to the earth… or something like that. She herself was Shinto, so she paid little attention to the other religion.

"I am not," he said shortly.

"Will you at least allow me to know what you look like? I cannot see, but if you allow me to feel your face…" Orihime wanted to know _something _about the mystery man that held her attention so. He was an interesting person, she thought, with thoughts that she could not fully grasp.

"Will you be satisfied that way, woman?" he asked softly, and she nodded. Orihime started slightly as cool fingers caught her own, slender but strong, and icy to the touch. Her hand was the pressed against equally cold skin, a smooth expanse that would have been the edge of his jaw. Orihime then took over herself, exploring his face with her fingertips. She felt half lidded eyes that slid shut beneath her touch, that bespoke of a melancholy look that would well fit his personality, the straight bridge of his nose below the sharp 'v' formed by his eyebrows. She ran her fingers through his hair, and was surprised to find that the silky locks were left free, much like Ichigo's was, but it was longer, and less wild. She found that he wasn't all that tall; her fingers then wandered across his cheek and encountered a low ridge that she easily recognized.

"Is this a scar?" she asked him, feeling an identical one beneath his other eye. They ran from his bottom lid to the edge of his jaw. She imagined that his pain must have been similar to her own, when suddenly he caught her wrist, pulling her hand away from him and leaving her question unanswered.

"I will never understand you humans," she thought she heard him mutter amongst a rustle of cloth, but she could not be sure, so she did not inquire, "You said that you wish to speak to me; do not expect it to be a particularly inspiring conversation."

"I will be happy if you simply listen," Orihime said with a small smile.

"So be it," the man replied, the man with the scars and the nice voice that was void of pity.

"You know how I said I don't like being patronized?" she began, "I don't… I can understand that people worry about me, the villagers especially, and I appreciate the fact that they think highly enough of me to find me worth worrying about, but… they treat me like I can do nothing for myself."

"And you do not tell them that this bothers you?" his voice was low, and she detected a note of confusion. Orihime shook her head.

"I fear that if I do, they will be offended… you see, I love the village people a great deal. I have known all of them since I was very small, and they have done so much for me. When my parents left my brother and me in the mountains during the famine, the village took us in. And when Sora died, they provided for me… they still do."

"I do not understand."

"What is there to understand?" she queried, "It is simple compassion and gratitude."

"Compassion…" he mused quietly to himself, thinking that such a thing was entirely useless. But the woman had not sought him for his opinions, so he kept silent.

"Do you have anyone that you love like that?" the girl asked suddenly, her face turning toward him. Ulquiorra gazed at her with an empty stare.

"I do not," he responded, not even having to think.

"No one? You've never had anyone that you would die for? No parents, or siblings, or friends?" she looked surprised by this, though he did not understand why.

"Loyalty and love are different things," Ulquiorra intoned lowly, "In answer to your question, the only one I have ever served is dead; even when serving him I rarely took into consideration that I might die in his service. I simply acted."

The girl looked thoughtful for a moment, "That's sad," she said.

"What is?"

"That you have no companions!" she truly looked miserable for his sake, a completely unfathomable reaction. He shook his head, not understanding, and instead decided to close himself off.

"I dislike speaking of myself," Ulquiorra said, "You said that you wished me to listen; I am no longer volunteering information."

The girl brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her forearm, "All right," she sighed, "then I will tell you about the village!"

Orihime spoke for a long time, telling the man of everything that went on. How Ichigo was a blade smith, how much she enjoyed his company, even though he loved some other woman named Rukia, a noble. How Tatsuki and Chizuru were forever warring over her, with Tatsuki chasing Chizuru away only for the other girl to come back after only a few minutes; How Asano, a stable hand, wanted Tatsuki, but the girl either did not notice or refused to accept his feelings; how Kobayashi the papermaker once started a fire in Ichigo's forge by accident. She described the village by feel and by emotion. The sun moved across the sky, and still the girl with the fiery hair continued.

Ulquiorra listened, and did not understand.


	5. Old Friends?

**A/N: Happy Independence day everyone~! This would indeed be the fifth installment of Oblivion, and I want to thank everyone for reading! For anyone who was worrying about it, (I've gotten a lot of questions about this for some reason) I will most certainly NOT be discontinuing this story! It will be written in full, most likely having the final chapter posted on the 1****st**** of August.**

**I hope everyone enjoys the chapter… I foresee trouble for Ulquiorra and Orihime in coming chapters…. Muahahahahahah!**

Old Friends?

Tatsuki sat on the top step of her front porch, worried out of her mind for Orihime. At some ungodly hour of the morning she had randomly run from the house chasing a strange melody that had flowed from the darkened forest…it was now past midday, and if Chizuru was right, and there was a ghost or a demon haunting the woods, there was little chance of the brunette getting her friend back in one piece. The martial girl shook her head, ridding herself of such thoughts. She didn't really believe in such things… not _really_… and if they did exist, the patron deity of their village would get rid of it, right?

A flash of golden orange caught Tatsuki's eye at the edge of the woods some distance from where she herself sat. Jumping to her feet, the girl looked closer.

There was Orihime, holding onto a pale hand and being guided to the edge of the trees and onto the path. The hand belonged to the figure of a man, but all that Tatsuki could see of him from the distance she was, and from his standpoint in a pool of deep shadows, was that he had loose, shaggy dark hair. His face was hidden from her by that curtain of black locks as he said something to Orihime. The red head grinned widely and shook her head, tightening her hand on his momentarily before letting go. She said something else, his shoulders rinsing and falling in a sigh that seemed both slightly sorrowful and mildly annoyed before he replied and turned away, vanishing into the trees with almost terrifying ease.

Tatsuki ran down the steps, sandals flopping against her heels as she hurried to her friend. Orihime faced her at the sound, looking mildly confused. She was in perfect health, not like the last time she had disappeared; the only thing that could be said was wrong with her was her dirty feet. She hadn't even gotten any tears in her kimono, which most people with sight failed to accomplish when in the forest, which was a veritable tangle of brambles in some places.

"Tatsuki?" the blind girl guessed, reaching out with shy fingers. The dark haired girl gripped her fingers tightly in response.

"Where have you been?" the girl berated her friend, relief washing through her, "I thought I told you not to wander off last time you got lost!"

"I wasn't lost this time!" Orihime shot back with unexpected ferocity, stomping her foot in an unwonted display of frustration, "I knew exactly where I was going and who I was going to! I'm allowed to go visit who I want, aren't I?"

"Alright, alright…." Tatsuki soothed. Orihime didn't bring up the man in the trees, so Tatsuki didn't ask, wanting to avoid upsetting her friend further. The red head pouted in the opposite direction for several minutes on the way back to the brunette's home, remaining silent the whole way there. Finally she huffed loudly and linked arms with Tatsuki.

"I can't stay mad at you…" she grumbled, still looking the other way with furrowed eyebrows. She suddenly looked shocked and pulled her eyebrows up forcefully with the tips of her fingers and held them there for a moment.

"Why did you do that?" Tatsuki asked, utterly perplexed.

"I don't want my eyebrows like his! I like my eyebrows the way they are!"

"Who are you talking about?"

"The… the guy! Argh! Why won't he tell me his name?" Tatsuki jumped at Orihime's sudden outburst; the girl was very worked up today, she noticed.

"You mean that pale guy who was with you before?" she wondered as the pair went up the steps to the house.

"Just now? Yes. He's pale?" without waiting for an answer, she continued, "I talked to him for a long time… about how much I love this place, and all the people. I don't think he understood very well though…" Orihime said disappointedly shaking her head.

"Why not?"

"Well, I asked him, and he said that he has no one. When I told him that it was sad for him to be alone, he didn't know why that would upset me. He doesn't seem to get along with people very well, although I find him agreeable, if a little too honest and straightforward." The red head sighed, stepping through the door that Tatsuki had opened for her and finding her way to the table before sitting down. Tatsuki did the same, seating herself across from her companion as the other girl unwrapped the cloth from her head.

"Wait, I'm confused; what do you mean he has no one?"

"He doesn't have any parents, or siblings, or friends, he said. He lives by himself in the forest, away from the village, and…" she halted for a second, and took a breath, "when I felt his face, I found scars. He has a sad type of face, without laugh lines. Oh, and eyebrows like this."

Orihime demonstrated by putting her pointer fingers low over her piercing gray eyes, setting her mouth in a grim line and allowing her lids to droop so that her face gained the sullen, worn appearance of a person who has been trampled by humanity and fought their way to the top only to stand alone and realize that nothing awaits them.

"His scars went like this…" she continued, tracing her fingers down her cheeks, almost like tear tracks.

"You're sure that they were scars?"

"I'm positive! They must have been deep, because the skin was a little bit raised."

Tatsuki fell silent, thinking upon the colorless man she had seen, and how interested Orihime was in him. The brunette figured that if at all possible, she should have a chat with the mystery man, and find out if he was worthy of her best friend.

Because if he wasn't, she'd kick his ass.

…..

"Hey, kid, what do you mean our order isn't finished?"

The shout attracted the attention of people outside of the shop for about three buildings down, from Ichigo's perspective at least. He ground a fist into one hip to stop from shooting something back at his customer that would more than likely harm business.

He glared up at his patrons, who were even stranger than he, as far as hair and eye color.

The first, closest to the door, was a man who seemed to be from the continent. He was tall, head brushing the top of the doorframe, and skeletally thin, with stringy black hair, and an eye patch. The visible eye was slanted sharply, its glare dangerous, made even more so by the wide grin of insanity that was painted on the man's face. He was dressed in a white top that buttoned up to his throat, with dark pants that cinched around the top of his calves. His forearms and lower legs were bound tightly in strips of cloth. He was the least odd of the trio, much to Ichigo's despair.

The second was a woman with a bust to rival Orihime's. In fact, the two women seemed very similar, but for the newcomer's height, and hair that was colored almost identical to tea leaves, a dull, woodsy green. She also had a strange pink mark that was almost scar-like across her cheeks and nose, and what was _undeniably_ a scar gouging across her forehead. The magenta marking reminded Ichigo of the black streaks down Ulquiorra's face, and for an instant he wondered if the markings were tattoos before turning his attention back to the woman herself. She wore a shockingly scant kimono that was hardly more than a kosode, showing much cleavage and covering only half way down her thigh. Her green eyes were wide and innocent as she hid behind the third person, the one who was shouting at Ichigo.

The third was another male with broad shoulders and rippling muscles that Chad might have been envious of by the way that they seemed to contain a sort of catlike grace and strength rather than just straight brawn. His hair was a wild shade of unnatural blue, as were his eyes. His gaze was narrowed in anger as his lip pulled up in a snarl, showing oddly sharp teeth. His eyes were highlighted by cobalt markings on his lids. His dark navy colored shirt was worn open, gray pants bound by a sash at his waist. He seemed to be the one in charge, or at least the only one who was really willing to put up a fight for the blades that Ichigo had yet to finish.

"Like I said, I've been working on a blade for a local!" the blacksmith reiterated, an edge creeping into his voice.

"We placed our order first!" the blue haired man snarled, taking a step forward. Ichigo simply raised his gaze and crossed his arm, not budging.

"I didn't expect the sword I'm repairing to take so long; I apologize. I completed the repairs to the other order yesterday, so there is a chance I can finish your order in half a week. There is only one blade that I haven't completed. If you're willing to come back for it, you can take the other two swords now."

"Come back for it?" the larger man growled, "Che! We're in a hurry brat, we don't have time to-"

"Grimmjow," the tall man by the door spoke softly enough, but the man who was addressed halted his speech. Grimmjow, Ichigo guess by his reaction, looked back at the human skeleton. The lanky man jerked his chin in the direction of a wall behind Ichigo. All four of them looked where he pointed, and their eyes alighted on a blade hanging in the rack.

"That can't be…" the woman murmured, cocking her head.

"Murcielago?" Grimmjow's voice was harsh with surprise, "That's not possible!" his gaze whipped back to Ichigo and he lunged, gripping the front of the smith's leather frock with one fist. "Where'd you get that?" he snapped.

There was a slight scuff by the entrance as a man, head bowed low, walked straight past the man by the door, past the woman, ignored the one called Grimmjow, and addressed Ichigo.

"Smith, is my blade repaired?" he asked, "And six, put him down. I find it annoying that your idiocy hasn't changed in the time I spent, gratefully, away from you."

"Ulquiorra-san!" the woman shrieked joyfully, jumping up and down with glee, "We thought you'd died! Oh how good to know that you managed to find someplace to live!"

"Well?" Ulquiorra asked, staring sullenly at Ichigo.

"Oh, uh, yeah, hold on," the blade maker turned and grabbed the sword off the wall, severely disconcerted by the acquaintance between the four other people in his shop. It didn't seem to be a very good relationship, at that. He handed the sheathed blade to the shortest and palest man in the room and waited for him to draw the weapon and inspect it.

"Acceptable work," he said. He strapped the blade to his hip and handed Ichigo the proper amount of money before stalking back toward the exit. The man at the door bowed mockingly to Ulquiorra, smile widening. The shorter man nodded in return, and just before he left, he called over his shoulder.

"Three, five, six, if you are at an utter lack of places to stay the night, my home is open to you if only for the fact that your deaths would be troublesome. You know where to find me." With that, he disappeared into the crowds.

The three looked at each other, the tall man shrugging at the other two before slipping out.

"Wait! Nnoitra-kun!" the woman cried after him, "Ooh, Grimmjow! How will we find him?"

"Shouldn't be hard, that guy's a freak. Grab the swords and pay the kid, Nel."

The woman danced up to Ichigo, breasts jiggling. The boy blushed furiously as the kosode pulled open a bit further. Thrusting the sheathed swords at the one called Nel, he averted his gaze, knowing that if he were caught looking at another woman, he would be decapitated by Rukia, Byakuya, and Renji to boot.

He accepted his payment and sighed with relief as the last of the strange group left his shop.

"What a bunch of weirdos," he muttered, turning back to his forge. He had better things to do that think upon a demon and his companions.


	6. Shattered Trust

**A/N: Hi everyone… this is the next installment of Oblivion, and I wanted to thank everyone for their patience and reviews; however, mare patience may be necessary, because two days ago I had my left hand crushed in a car door, and two of my fingers are severely bruised, and one maybe broken, so I can only type with one hand, which makes for slow going T_T  
Therefore, if the next chapter comes later than Wednesday, I apologize. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Thank you :)**

Shattered Trust

"Ahhh! Ulquiorra-san! I missed you!" Nel wept, arms around the pale man's shoulder, shaking him back and forth as her tears splattered onto his clothing. Her breasts were pressed against his arm uncomfortably, but he ignored the fact and pushed her off him, hand in her face.

"Mffff…" the woman complained. Ulquiorra removed his black-nailed hand and wiped his fingers free of snot with a rag.

"It's been a full day already, can't you get over this?" he asked her in a low monotone as he turned away, "And how long are you trash going to stay here?"

Grimmjow shot him a glare and Nnoitra's grin widened over his narrow eyes, full of malice, but other than that, no indication of Ulquiorra's insult was given.

"Until we get our blade; maybe longer, your house is comfortable," Grimmjow said slyly, leaning back on some cushions, hands behind his head. Nnoitra was sitting cushion-less in a corner because this, "And besides, since _your _order was the one that caused ours to be late, it only makes sense that you give us some compensation."

Ulquiorra gave him a dull stare that clearly conveyed that fact that if they overstayed their welcome they would die, before turning away.

"I'm going to go make some tea," he intoned blandly, stepping through a narrow doorway that lead to the only other room in the house.

Nel walked over to where Grimmjow lay and curled against him, shouldering her way onto part of the cushions and effectively suffocating Grimmjow in her sea of green hair. Nnoitra sniggered as his companion sputtered, and Nel gave the tall man a look of mingled resentment, fear, and dislike. Clearly, through she had forgotten much, she had not forgotten where they scar on her head had come from.

The three of them stayed like that in silence for a while, waiting for Ulquiorra to come back.

"He sure is taking his time," Grimmjow grumbled, stroking Nel's hair.

"Maybe he went to the bathroom?" she wondered.

"Somehow I don't think so," Nnoitra yawned as a loud clatter came from the other room.

At that moment, a flash of orange and white shot through front door of Ulquiorra's home, skidding to a stop and removing sandals with godly speed before shouting.

"Hey! Are you here? Tatsuki left town for the day and I needed someone to talk to, so I just came over. That's okay, right? " Orihime chattered rapidly- she was excited to see him. It had been nearly three weeks since she had last gotten the chance to talk- _really _talk- with her mystery man. Every time she had tried to slip away to see him, however, something seemed to come up; it seemed that, for whatever reason, her friends were keeping a closer watch on her.

"Holy shit!" Grimmjow yelled, bolting upright as the woman's sudden outburst startled him. This upset Nel, as her hair got caught under his hand when he sat up, causing her to squeal and thrash around. Nnoitra laughed loudly at her pain.

Orihime froze in confusion, sandals in hand. She had forgone her eye cover, and had come seeking the man with the scarred face, but she instead heard an onrush of sound that came from the voices of two men and one woman, all young and probably not much older than herself. The clash of sound confused her, and for a moment she was disoriented.

Turning her blank gray eyes in the general direction of the noise she stammered, "I-I'm sorry! W-wrong house I guess… um, do you know where I c-can find a man with-"

"Three, five, six, if you don't silence yourselves, I might just throw you out," the familiar tone instantly calmed the girl and she turned to Ulquiorra with a small appearing on her face. He examined her, this being the first time he had seen her eyes. The scarring was obvious, but not ugly, and her eyes were a calm but haunting shade of blue-turned-gray.

"Can't you call us by our names?" Grimmjow grumbled, subsequently ignored by Ulquiorra.

"You _are_ here! I knew I wasn't wrong!" the girl trilled. She took a step forward and gripped his sleeve happily, nearly upsetting the tea tray he held, "But who are these other people?"

"Hoo!" Nnoitra cried, "Score Ulquiorra! How does this happen? Both you and Grimmjow, you lacking personality and he completely missing brains, and somehow you both end up with women before me…"

"This is why you left, Ulquiorra-san?" Nel asked wonderingly, cocking her head at Orihime and smiling.

"And here I was thinking you left because Szayel wouldn't leave you alone, the freak!" Grimmjow snorted, "Why didn't you tell us you got yourself a woman?"

"Because I _didn't_," Ulquiorra sighed.

"Oh, so this beauty is free? Can I have her, Ulquiorra? Can I? I'm sure she'd be fun to play with for a while, fun to… taste," Nnoitra's tongue flicked over his lips as he drew close to Orihime's face. As his breath touched her, the girl drew back into Ulquiorra with a startled squeak. The pale man glared an obvious threat at Nnoitra, and the taller of the pair backed off a bit.

"See Nnoitra? That's why you don't have a woman, your ugly face scare them away!" Grimmjow snickered. Nnoitra sneered at the other man as he drew back, flicking his tongue out again to reveal the number five marked there, an obvious threat to Grimmjow's position. The blue haired man curled his lip over his teeth in a snarl.

"She's blind, you idiots," Ulquiorra walked away from the doorway, carrying his tray of cups full of steaming tea. He shifted his elbow suddenly while passing Grimmjow, and the tea splattered on the other man. Ulquiorra glared sideways at his guest, a warning to keep his temper in check. They both knew that Nnoitra could kill Grimmjow, and Ulquiorra would do nothing to stop it, despite the fact that he outranked the tall man. He continued walking once he knew his message was understood, and placing the tray on the low desk he said, "I'll go get another cup, since I seem to have acquired a new guest…"

He walked back through to his kitchen, and was aware of the fact that the red headed woman followed him.

"Ulquiorra?" she asked.

"What?" the aforementioned man poured a fifth cup of tea with his back to her.

"Is that your name?"

"Would I have answered if it were not?"

"Oh…" she murmured, wanting to smack herself for asking such an obvious question, "Who are those people?"

"Some idiots who will be residing here for an indeterminate amount of time," Ulquiorra heaved a sigh, picking up the cup he had filled and placing it in Orihime's hands, waiting until she had curled her fingers around it in a steady grip before letting go.

"That's not an answer!" she protested. Ulquiorra leaned against the wall.

"Fine. Ex-comrades of mine, Nelliel Tu Odershwanck, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, and Nnoitra Gilga," he left the room, and she followed, more slowly, more carefully. She sat next to him as he settled down at the table, sipping at her tea as she did so. She heard rustling as the other three in the room shifted restlessly.

Grimmjow cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering if he should just start telling Ulquiorra all that had happened since he left, or if he should hold his peace until their host asked. Having decided to speak, he opened his mouth, but was interrupted as the cloth that was the entrance to the home shifted and revealed another pair of faces.

"Ah, we found you!" a voice said laughingly.

"Nnoitra-sama," another murmured respectfully.

In stepped two men, one a bit broader and taller than the other, but both lean and compact. The shorter of the two had sharp, slanted gold eyes that glowed brightly from beneath his long black hair that formed a thin braid that reached nearly to his waist. He was garbed in a tight cloth that Ulquiorra recognized as Indian cotton from the continent, emphasizing the wiry strength that filled the man's form. Three red stripes stood out from his skin on each cheek.

The tallest of the pair had shaggy honey colored hair that reached the base of his neck. An eye patch over his right eye gave him a roguish look that was emphasized by his serious demeanor. He was dressed similarly to Nnoitra, in the style favored by the Chinese. His right cheek was scored by a green rectangle that came up beneath his lost eye.

"Ah!" the shorter man cried in surprise, quickly giving a short bow, "Ulquiorra-sama! We did not know you were here!"

"If I am correct," Ulquiorra said flatly, "you belong to Barragan."

"Ggio Vega at your service! And a small correction, I _belonged _to Barragan. No longer," Ggio Vega smirked. He spoke in carefree, lilting tones that were somehow lessened by the piercing watchfulness in his ochre gaze.

"Tesla," Nnoitra interrupted, "Didn't I tell the two of you to stay in the camp?"

"I apologize for my disobedience, Nnoitra-sama, but when you did not return, I grew worried…" the blonde replied uneasily. Nnoitra walked slowly up to his servant and leaned down until their noses nearly touched.

"I told you to stay in the camp," he repeated. Orihime shuddered at his tone of voice, and inched fractionally closer to Ulquiorra.

"I-" Tesla cut off as Nnoitra gripped his blonde hair and dragged his head back, pulling viciously, "I'm sorry! I wanted to ensure your safety Nnoitra-sama! I only wanted-"

Nnoitra's sick smile was gone now, a grimace of anger in its place; he made as if to hit Tesla, but found himself interrupted.

"If you are going to cause a fuss, Nnoitra," Ulquiorra said lowly, his green eyes sparking in the direction of the tall man, "I think I will have to remedy that."

Nnoitra sneered, but released Tesla, causing the blonde to stumbled back into the wall, a look of mingled relief, humble subservience, and loyalty on his features that Ulquiorra could not understand. Nnoitra returned to his seat, ignoring his servant.

Ulquiorra, however, turned his attention back to Ggio.

"What do you mean 'belonged'?" he asked the tigerish man as he coiled himself into an Indian style seating position at the already overcrowded table.

"I should explain that," Grimmjow sighed, "It also explains why we're here…" in an unwonted display of exhaustion, he ran his hand tiredly over his face. Behind him Nnoitra's wicked grin renewed itself despite his foul mood, and Nel put down her tea. Orihime pricked her ears, hoping to hear something of Ulquiorra's (he had such a pretty name! It sounded very… foreign) past.

"After you left… we ran into a bit of trouble with the emperor," Grimmjow said sheepishly.

"The emperor," Ulquiorra repeated flatly. He sounded angry.

"You have to understand; Aizen had already killed Gin and Tousen and then was executed himself…" Grimmjow continued, "We had no leader, and were falling apart at the seams. Stark, Lilinette, and Halibel all disappeared, then you went off on your own, so the highest ranking of us left was Barragan,"

"Old fool," Ggio muttered under his breath, "Should have kept to himself."

"Barragan more or less took control of who was left; we'd already been found out though, so you and Stark's group were right to bail out when you did. With Baragan heading us, we couldn't get out any more than if Aizen had still been alive. We had already passed our prime."

Nnoitra took over at this point.

"Yammy was the first to go, he got reckless and was killed by a battalion while the rest of us were smart enough to get away."

"Aaronierro died next, he liked playing around with people too much… he found a girl who's lover he had killed and taunted her about it. She stabbed him in the chest," Nel sniffed, wiping a tear off her face.

"Zommari fell while we were in the mountains. We weren't able to find his body, but the cliff was so high up there's no way he survived," Grimmjow rejoined the conversation, "That was when Szayel left, saying that as a doctor, his skills would be better suited somewhere where he could take people apart at will. He went west, and we haven't heard from him since. By then it was just us three, who couldn't find a suitable excuse to leave, and those bound to us, like Tesla. Barragan wouldn't give it up though, he sent us on a job… we were taken by the army, and the old man was given a public execution. The five of us killed what seemed like every guard in the palace to escape, and after that we had to go on the run."

"So," Ulquiorra murmured, "The Espada have fallen,"

"It was good while it lasted," Nnoitra laughed, "The life of a brigand is the most enjoyable, eh, Ulquiorra, ranked four?"

"Shut up, five," Ulquiorra returned calmly, "what do you intend to do now, Grimmjow?"

"Well, our group traveled under the guise of traveling performers… I can see you kept your shamisen… but the five of us will make use of our talents until we can find better occupation I guess," the blue haired man's voice was full of disdain, as if any life other than killing and stealing wasn't worth his time or effort.

Orihime's brain, however, was stuck on the words from a few minutes before.

_"The life of a brigand is the most enjoyable, eh, Ulquiorra? The life a brigand…. A brigand…. Ulquiorra…."_

The words repeated in her head again and again until something finally clicked.

The man whom she had come to visit was a thief, and more than likely a murderer. She stood suddenly, her tea cup spilling over the bamboo mats as she jumped to her feet, interrupting the conversation.

"You…. You…" she stammered in his direction, "You're a bandit! A killer!"

There was no reply but for a stare that she felt burning her skin as clearly as if she could see him looking at her as she turned her back and left the house at a stumbling run, leaving her sandals on the floor, her broken trust with them.


	7. Nihilism

**A/N: Hey everyone! Good news: my finger isn't broken X) I lost my fingernails, and that's about it. Thanks for everyone's well-wishing and reviews! I am really excited for these next couple of chapters and hope you all enjoy it :D**

Nihilism 

Orihime sprinted back home, not caring when old cuts on her feet reopened, not caring when her face was whipped by a branch, not caring when she was punched in the stomach by a broken bough. Only one thing pulsed through her veins, replacing blood.

Betrayal.

She didn't know why she cared as much as she did; she had known him for only a season, maybe two. Only half a year at the very most. The air that had been crisp when she first met him now turned to needles in her lungs with the frigidity of it. Winter was fast approaching… worry tugged at her mind for the man, Ulquiorra, for what if he froze to death, or became ill from the cold? His house was not sturdy, not warm, what if….?

She shook off the feeling hysterically. A brigand. He was a brigand. A high ranking thief, a murderer whose hands were likely stained black with blood. Why, why, _why_ did it have to be such? She had been happier in her ignorance, for now she felt pain deep in her chest that had nothing to do with her pounding heart as she fought her way through a thicket of brambles.

She would have felt tears coursing down her cheeks, if she had been able to cry, but nothing escaped her maimed eyes, only a sob slipping between her lips and winging its way into the sky like a carrier pigeon to signal her distress.

She couldn't understand this, she didn't want to. She wanted to run until her feet were bleeding stumps, until her heart gave out, until lungs burst. She wanted to cry into Sora's shoulder, she wanted to feel the love of family again, she wanted to return to being a child. It did not matter what she wanted, though, for none of these things could be so. It had never mattered what she wanted.

She fell onto the path at the edge of the trees, more sobs coming deep from within her aching chest as she rested for a moment on all fours.

"Orihime?" the panicked voice belonged to Tatsuki, and echoing her cry came Chizuru's fearful tones.

The red head stumbled upright, barefoot and bleeding, crying without tears, hurting without pain, holding herself up with a low branch. She began to run in the other direction, but her wrist was caught by slender fingers that she recognized as Tatsuki's. She felt the scar on her friend's middle finger from when they had been climbing trees.

"What's wrong?" the brunette cried, "What happened? Hime!"

She fell to her knees, taking Tatsuki with her, and for a long time, Orihime could do nothing but pant, shiver, and swallow back more sobs, any words she tried to release coming out incoherently, or unintelligibly. Finally she spoke.

"He's one of them! Ulquiorra… he's one of _them_!" she choked on another sob, gripping Tatsuki's arm as if her life depended on it while Chizuru stroked her red tresses comfortingly, for once her perversion being the farthest thing from her mind.

"'One of them'?" the pink haired girl repeated questioningly.

"He's a brigand. I went to his house, and there were five others there. They started talking about the old days… two of them called him Ulquiorra-_sama _and it seems everyone in his home was a lower rank then he was!"

"A brigand?" Chizuru shrieked.

"What did they say," Tatsuki murmured, "What were they talking about, specifically?"

Damn it all, she _knew _she should have kept a better watch on Orihime! Left her with Ichigo, or someone else…

Orihime swallowed, "They talked about how their leaders died, how… how _he _left," no one had to ask to know that by '_he_' she meant Ulquiorra, the mystery man that only she had met as of yet, "and how their group split apart."

"This 'Ulquiorra' left, you said?" Tatsuki queried. Orihime nodded. "Then perhaps you judge him too harshly."

"He is the same as them!" Orihime screamed, "He's the same as the ones who killed Sora, the ones who took my sight and-"

_Slap_.

Orihime looked startled, holding her burning cheek as Tatsuki lowered her hand, shaking with anger.

"You said he had no friends; obviously he did not enjoy being in the company of those who he worked with! You said he had a sad face; perhaps regret ties him down! You said that he lives far from other people; perhaps he fears himself, perhaps his guilt makes it difficult for him to be around others, perhaps he does not like remembering what he has done!"

"B-but…"

"You said that he was kind to you! Would a lying, murdering, stealing, _rapist_ take you into his home, feed you, allow you to sleep there and let you go on your way unharmed? You don't know his reasons for what he did. There are many reasons why one will steal and kill. You called him a _friend._ Do you really put so little faith in those you call comrades? Your judgment upon him was too swift, Hime."

Through Tatsuki said what she did, she still did not like the fact that this 'Ulquiorra' had been a thief. Orihime had been happier than she had been in a long time when she had met him… but his previous occupation changed things.

Orihime's silver eyes cast down upon the stones at her feet, gazing without seeing, and her hands gathered into fists as she clenched the cloth on her lap.

"I… I will return to see him. After I calm down a bit, I will go back," she swallowed hard, "I'll ask him for myself."

A week later, her missing sandals turned up on her doorstep.

She did not return for many days.

…..

Ulquiorra surveyed his now empty home from the outside as he rested against a tree, shamisen across his knees. The rest of the Espada, true to their word, had left after acquiring the swords they had needed for Ggio, Tesla, and Nel, with unfortunate promises of future visits.

Nel had apologized profusely for what had happened with the woman, though he did not understand why. The woman had fled his home. That was how it should be, for humans and demons did not mix, and for good reason. It had been nearly three weeks since she had last come, and the weather had grown frigid, the sky an opaque pearl gray, threatening snow. The sky reminded him of the reflections in the woman's empty gaze.

For a reason that he could not put his finger on, however, no matter how many times he cast his thoughts about, he had been more ill tempered of late. It had taken all of his vast self control, as a matter of fact, to keep himself from killing that fool papermaker Kobayashi, despite the fact that stabbing such trash would soil his blade.

When she had first left, a guilty sort of relief had settled into his chest; her leaving meant that he didn't have to tell her to leave and never return. He didn't have to look at her and tell her to go and forget him, to live her normal, _human _life, out of his reach. But behind that relief lay a dull throbbing ache that even now twinged at the thought of her.

He didn't understand. He simply didn't _understand_! How had a blind, unarmed, _weak_, human woman like her caused him pain? He shook his head and returned to his music.

Lids falling lower over his eyes, Ulquiorra absent mindedly plucked at the strings of his shamisen, the black caps on his fingers running cords without instruction. Eventually, the melody that he customarily played began to take shape upon the air without his notice as he slumped against the base of the plum tree outside his house, his breath drifting on the icy air. It was cold.

As was he.

…..

Orihime stepped outside and instantly felt the bite of the icy wind as it whipped her hair against her face. She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she stepped forward, off the path, and into the now withered forest, the dead undergrowth and crumpled leaves crunching beneath her feet.

Her fingers danced over the frosted twigs of a fir tree, and for a moment she remembered the touch of Ulquiorra's hand on her own. She shook off the thought fiercely, and continued her trek, feeling for familiar formations, as it was too cold for her to feel out the path with bare feet. She chewed her lip the whole time she walked, nervous not only as to how Ulquiorra would react to seeing her after her dramatic exit, but also as to how she would react to _him_.

She suddenly encountered unexpected resistance at her ankles as she entered the slightly depressed hollow where his house was situated, as she passed the tree that stood before the door. She went sprawling, throwing her hands out in front of her. Rather than falling onto hard ground, however, she fell against something soft and heard a melodic _clink-clink-twang_. Pushing herself upright, she felt around for what she had tripped on and found a cold hand with metal caps on the fingertips. Only shamisen players wore such caps, and if there was a shamisen, that would explain the metallic twanging she had heard as she fell.

"Um… Ulquiorra?"

"Get off me, woman," came the curt reply, a waspish sting in his tone.

"Ah! I'm sorry! I didn't realize you were sitting here, and I…" she fell silent as he pulled his fingers out of her grip and walked away while she still spoke. Orihime felt mingled regret, anger, and sorrow well up within her as she realized that Ulquiorra was probably furious.

She stepped her way slowly to the entrance and pushed aside the undulating cloth with her hand, removing her shoes as she slipped inside. She heard nothing. Perhaps he had gone through the back door to escape her? That would be childish… but she could be childish too, and she would wait him out if that were the case. Her feet made rustling sounds as they passed over the bamboo mats; she found a cushion and sat, feet beneath her, a pout solidly on her face.

A breath tickled her ear, causing her to shiver in surprise.

"I'm glad you feel that you can make yourself… at home," Ulquiorra noted icily, "after such accusations. Are you sure you want to be alone in the middle of the woods with a thief and a murderer?"

He could not have put it into words, but for some reason he was angry- hurt. It shouldn't have mattered what she called him, but it had… it still did.

"I came to ask you why," Orihime said after a short silence.

"Explain."

"I want to know why you became a brigand. Did you need money for something? Were you forced into it? Were you threatened or hurt?" the girl quested for answers while keeping her silvered eyes locked on her lap.

"My reasons are simple enough. I was saved," he said tersely.

"Explain," Orihime mimicked. Ulquiorra tensed with annoyance that spilled over the border of his anger.

"Aizen-sama saved my life…. I was in his debt. I have no other reason than this." He intoned flatly.

"Aizen… he was the leader of the… group, right?"

"He was," Ulquiorra crossed the room and sat against the far wall, distancing himself from the unpredictable, emotion driven, _human_ girl.

"Tell me how he saved you," Orihime demanded, and after a long pause she added, "please?"

There was a soft sigh, almost like the last breath of a man who has held out against some plague until death, before Ulquiorra spoke.

"I have always, always been alone," he began in a murmur, "I never had parents. I don't even know if I was brought to life by some other being… I simply _was._ If I had siblings, I knew nothing of them. I had no caretakers or friends, no lovers or even acquaintances. Where I lived, there was silence unto eternity. I could not speak. I heard nothing, said nothing, did nothing… only saw. Where I was, it was eternally white. There was…. Nothing. Nothing at all. I found beauty in the nihilism."

Orihime shuddered, thinking about his description. For her, without sight, sound and feel were everything. A place without sound would be hell.

"Of course, although it was beautiful, methodic… peaceful… I could not stay. I was driven out by others who came after, others who were different than I." He halted, as if gather his thoughts, before continuing. "I knew little about this world."

Orihime did not miss how he said 'this world', as if prior to, he had lived in some other plane of existence. He had made similar comments before, referring to 'not understanding humans' as if he weren't one himself. She brushed it off for now. What she was hearing was too important.


	8. Nihilism II

**A/N: Okay, I have several things to apologize for. Firstly, I'm sorry I didn't update sooner today, I was at the Comicon for the day (it was awesome) Secondly, I realized that I failed to explain previously that this chapter and last chapter are two halves of what was really a SINGLE chapter, so for those of you who thought it cut off abruptly…. That's because it did. Sorry!**

**Anyways, thanks for all the reviews, and for reading this. I hope you guys enjoy!**

Nihilism (part 2)

"Others realized that I was different from them more quickly than I realized it myself. Nearly the instant I left my birthplace, I found that I had a voice, though I still knew no words. When I tried to communicate with the first humans I encountered, they took fright at my appearance and attacked me," Ulquiorra's voice had risen above a murmur, although his tone was still low enough that Orihime almost had to strain to hear it.

"Why would they be afraid? I've felt your face…. It is not unpleasant, far from it actually, and the scars on your face don't seem scary," Orihime wondered out loud.

"You could not know this, for you lack sight, but I am colored strangely in comparison to others," he said flatly, "My skin is as white as the snow and my hair is as black as pitch, but that in and of itself is not entirely alarming," there was a sound as Ulquiorra shifted slightly, "My eyes are what frighten them. They are as green as a polished emerald or fresh leaves in the spring. The centers are not round like they should be, but rather, form slits like a snake or cat… This is what frightens people so… also, the marks upon my face are not scars. I was born with them; they are dark lines upon my colorless skin."

Orihime had been puzzled as to why green eyes would scare people at all, for after all, her own eyes had been blue once upon a time. But if his eyes were snakelike, it was different… she herself had never judged upon appearance alone, but for many people, a man with white skin and demons' eyes was a specter.

"They attacked," he continued after a moment of blank emptiness, "and I found myself to be stronger than they… nay, at the time I thought them terribly weak. But I know now that I am stronger than that trash. After a time, I was alone again, the previous inhabitants having been driven out or killed in their attempt to rid themselves of me. I never used my voice, for without words there was nothing to use it for. I did not understand them, and they did not understand me. I reveled in the silence and loneliness….

"But after that, a group from the shogun's castle came, samurai in their own right, who wielded blades of what seemed to me to be ice… the cuts I received were all at once filled with hellfire and packed with snow, burning and stinging. My own blood painted the earth red, although I did not fail in bringing quite a few of them to earth myself. Finally they were all dead, and I fell. I thought that I would not rise again and that all at once angered me and comforted me. To be brought down when I had barely come to life, and by a group of weak humans no less… I was furious. But at the same time, I had always sought nothing. What could be more hollow than death itself? I had always looked for my own form of peace, to be left alone by all things. If death could not bring me that, I did not know what could.

"Hours passed, and I felt that I must die very soon, for I could not move, and the blood that had rushed from my wounds had slowed to a thin trickle, as if I had bled dry. I had already resigned myself, for if I ever survived, what then, would await me? I had no reason to live. I faded into oblivion… but through it I heard a voice speaking. Strangely, I understood, thought no language had ever been spoken to me up to that time. It said 'Do you want to return to life?' I said nothing, but my intentions were clear. I found later that it was Aizen-sama who had spoken to me, and he who had brought me back as the fourth member of his following… he and two others, Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen lead us. Aizen-sama gave me a reason to live, and so I served him… once he died I left the others, for they were fools, and no one should have dominion over me," He stopped there, and waited for her reaction. When the woman said nothing, he grew impatient, and asked, "Does my answer not satisfy you, woman?"

"That is a very sad story…" she said at length.

"You say that of me often," he intoned, "I do not understand why you should care, or why you would feel any emotion at all upon hearing of something that does not affect you."

"Everything affects someone else… But that's not what I came to talk about," Orihime said firmly, "I've decided that no matter what has happened in your past, I'm going to treat you based on what I _know _you to be since I have met you. If I treat you based on your past, then I am no better than the villagers who patronize me for what happened. You've done the same for me, and not treated me any differently because I'm blind… and you know, I believe you've changed since your brigand days."

"Men do not change what is in their hearts… only what mask they decide to wear for the rest of the world," Ulquiorra said quietly.

"Perhaps," Orihime replied, "but if one wears a mask often enough, it becomes his true face."

And this she spoke from experience.

…..

"You look tired, Ichigo," Tatsuki commented, coming upon her red haired childhood friend as he slumped against the front wall of his forge talking to Sado, "Hey Chad," she greeted with a smile.

"Hell yeah I'm tired," Ichigo groaned, "That damn demon brought some pals of his into the shop… not that I mind extra business, but these weirdos were pushy and I had to work faster than normal. I haven't recovered yet… That guy really _is _a demon, in both personality and body. A real jerk, ya know? Ulquiorra treated the others like dirt, but I could tell they knew each other pretty well because the woman-"

"Wait, demon? Ulquiorra? What?" Tatsuki interrupted. Ichigo shot her an annoyed look, his frown deeper than usual.

"Hm," Chad nodded.

"The demon Ulquiorra, sometimes known as Horobito or Nakiotoko, came to my shop and requested that I repair a blade," Ichigo explained slowly, as if speaking to a stupid child, "Then five _other_ devils showed up and ordered three blades. Ulquiorra met up with three of them in the store while picking up his weapon and invited them to stay at his house until the swords were finished. I thought it would give me time to work, but that creepy tall guy came every day to stand outside… it freaked me out."

"Ulquiorra…. A demon?" Tatsuki repeated, dumbstruck. Ichigo straightened and put his hands on his hips, his rolled up sleeves coming a bit unraveled as he did so.

"Tatsuki, have you _seen_ that guy? There's nothing else he could be. He's got eyes like a cat, weird marks on his face, and skin the color of sunbleached bones,"

"Hm," Chad confirmed.

The implications of this slammed into Tatsuki like a ton of bricks.

"The man that Orihime has been going to see…." She choked, "She called him Ulquiorra. And said that there were five others in his house when she went to see him before."

"What?" Ichigo said sharply, "You're sure?"

"Positive…" Tatsuki worried, biting a thumb nail nervously.

"Where is she right now?" the redhead barked.

"With him, I think."

"We'll have to tell her… I'm sure she doesn't know," Ichigo said lowly.

Tatsuki and Chad nodded in agreement.

…

Orihime was slipped into Tatsuki's house, blowing on her fingers, stiff with cold. Ulquiorra had walked her back to the edge of the forest, so half her body was warm from where she had linked arms with him, but her ears, nose, and outer extremities felt like blocks of ice.

"Tatsuki-chan?" she called, feeling along the wall to find her way into the next room, "Are you home?"

"Hey," the voice that called the greeting in a rough, tired voice startled her.

"K-Kurosaki-kun!" she cried, jolting, "I didn't know you were- I mean I just didn't _expect_-" She was cut off by a loud squeal and a jarring impact as Chizuru threw herself into Orihime's arms.

"Hime~!" the pink haired girl cried happily, "You're back!"

There was a shuffle as Tatsuki stepped out of the kitchen bearing tea and a small amount of food to share.

"Oh, Orihime, welcome back," Tatsuki smiled, "We missed you while you were out."

"Why is everyone here?" the redheaded girl asked her friend.

"Actually, Inoue, we had something to talk to you about," Ichigo said a bit grimly.

"We did?" Chizuru pouted, "I didn't know about this,"

"That man that you've been going to see…" Tatsuki sighed, "Hime, he's… well, I don't know, don't you get nervous around him? Even just a little bit?"

"Tatsuki," Orihime said with an edge to her voice, "You're the one who told me not to judge him harshly; I went to talk to him, and I have heard his story. I've decided that he's _not _like all the others."

"You know what he is, then?" Ichigo asked her, surprise in his voice, "And you still go…"

"Orihime, I want you to stop seeing someone… no, some_thing_ like him," Tatsuki told her sharply. Orihime whipped around, silver eyes glinting.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you had better be nice. He's not a _thing_, he's a person. Why would you even say something like that?" she sniffed, and had she been able, tears would have leaked from her eyes.

"Don't make my Hime cry!" Chizuru defended valiantly, hugging her friend close to her, receiving a watchful glare from Tatsuki.

"She doesn't know," Ichigo's voice had again acquired its exhausted tones.

"Know _what?_" the girl in question yelled furiously, stamping her foot in frustration. Her friends were talking in circles.

"Orihime, listen to me," Tatsuki demanded, "Ulquiorra is a demon. _The _demon. The Morobito, the Nakiotoko, whatever you want to call him. The thing that you go to see isn't human, not even close."

There was a brief pause as Chizuru's eyes grew wide with shock and fear, and then a clatter as she ran from the room, snatching her sandals as she went, reaching to throw open the door.

"Hey-!" Ichigo yelled, grabbed for her as she ran past to the door, but the pink haired woman eluded him, fleeing out the open door, "That's going to cause us some trouble, with that blabbermouth on the loose."

"So?" Orihime asked flatly, "Does it matter? _Should _it matter?"

"Inoue, demons aren't like us. They're stronger, faster, they hate our kind… From what I've seen, Ulquiorra is heartless," Ichigo told her, "He called his own comrades by number rather than name."

"It explains a lot, if he is a demon, but I don't care," Orihime's voice had softened, and she sat down calmly, "If he is stronger and faster, it doesn't matter to me, and if he hates us… with what humans have done to him, he has every right. I still…"

"Orihime…."

"I still love him."


	9. Realization

**A/N: Holy crap guys. This story hit over 100 likes? I never even thought anyone would read this! I love you people! Thanks so much! X)**

**Anyways, here is chapter nine… The story will only total 13 chapters, so we are already about three quarters of the way through…. Enjoy!**

Realization (A Second Confession)

Ichigo left the house soon after this, under the pretext of going to get Chizuru, but Orihime could tell that he was upset by her confession. Honestly, hearing the words come out of her own mouth had shocked her, as she had yet to come to terms with it herself. Now that it was out in the open, she realized how much she wanted him… Ulquiorra. The name tasted strangely bitter-sweet on her tongue. Before she had hidden what she wanted, even gone so far as to bury it within her own heart, but now…

There was a thud, presumably Tatsuki sitting down nearby.

"Orihime, did you really mean that, or did you say it just to spite Ichigo?" Tatsuki asked her. The red head turned her blank silver gaze onto her friend with an incredulous look spreading across her face.

"Of course I meant it, I wouldn't have said it otherwise," she answered, sounding a hurt.

"I thought you loved Ichigo."

"I did, before. But he has Rukia-chan, and he's happy. I wouldn't come between them, and I could never take him from her," she said a bit sadly, "So I let him go. I still care for him, but I can't say that I _love _him anymore. Only just now did I decide to be honest with myself…"

"It would have been better if you had been cruel and broken those two apart… at least then you wouldn't be chasing after something like _him_," Tatsuki murmured, worry evident in her tone.

"It's not like he'll _eat _me, Tatsuki," Orihime said with a soft laugh that sounded more like a sigh.

"Perhaps not, but it seems like that man has already taken your heart for himself," Tatsuki whispered, tears in her voice as she rose from the floor, "Be safe, Hime. Don't follow him somewhere you can't come back from."

The last part was meant only for herself, but she thought that perhaps Orihime had heard it anyway.

That girl had always had exceptional hearing.

…..

Chizuru rushed through the streets, dashing pell-mell to her home. Orihime with a demon? That was madness! (_A/N: Spartaaaaaa…._) Surely no one would be foolish enough… but Orihime was. She had an exceptionally big heart, Chizuru thought. She accepted anyone the way they were, whether they be human, animal, or… demon.

But it was dangerous, being with a demon, even if you were companions. She had heard terrible stories from travelers of demons going berserk in the blink of an eye and tearing people, even humans said to be their friends, to shreds with little or no provocation. Orihime was going to die.

She let that thought sink in.

If she didn't do something, Orihime would die.

Chizuru stopped in the middle of a walkway, an idea coming to her head. If she told the village head… but first she'd have to get approval from the council. It would be alright, she thought, getting through, because two of the four great house heads were her acquaintances: Byakuya Kuchiki and Yourichi Shihoin. If she could get their favor, she could go to Yamamoto Genryusai and get the demon exterminated.

Orihime would be safe.

But she needed an eyewitness account, not just hearsay if she was to be believed… also, an additional witness other than herself; she could use Kobayshi for that, he often spoke of the demon coming to his shop, but the foolish man had never used the _name_.

Ulquiorra.

Chizuru turned on heel and ran back the way she had come.

She would save her princess from the demon, even if it was in a rather roundabout way, even if she received no glory or thanks, even if she got no blood to stain her own hands in.

….

A knock came at Tatsuki's door at sometime between mid to late morning the next day, and the dark haired girl yawned as she answered the call.

"Oh, it's you Ichigo," she greeted, stepping sideways to allow him entrance to her home.

"Good to see you too," he grunted a bit irritably as he removed his sandals.

"Let me guess," the brunette said, mockingly thoughtful, "You're here to talk about Orihime."

"Well… yeah," he replied lowly, "We need to decide what to do about her _problem_."

"What is there to decide?" Tatsuki shot back, "If she's happy…. Then I'm not going to do anything. I'll only take action if he hurts her in any way. Then I'll kill him, demon or no. I'll kill him."

She had come to the conclusion the night before; this issue was far to convoluted. Things weren't always cast in black and white, and this was one of those gray areas that decisions were difficult to make for.

"But once Ulquiorra hurts her, won't it be too late?" Ichigo growled, "He-"

"Are you sure you aren't jealous?" she asked sharply. He made a point, but she wasn't going to change her mind that easily. It was _Orihime's _decision to make; Tatsuki would not force her friend's hand for anything.

"Jealous?" Ichigo repeated in surprise, "Why would I be?"

"Even if you didn't consciously notice, Orihime's followed you for years," the girl walked to the doorway before turning back, "She's not going to chase you anymore, Ichigo. I suggest you accept that just as you have Rukia, Orihime has someone else too."

With that Tatsuki disappeared into the house, dismissing the conversation.

…

Orihime shut the door to her tiny house quietly behind her and swept the hair that tickled her face out of her eyes. She blinked in the warmth of the sun and listened intently to the twittering birds. It had been a few days since she had visited Ulquiorra, mostly because Ichigo came to talk to her early in the morning and put her off the task of trekking through the woods to his home.

The weather had warmed a bit, but snow still stuck to the ground, thinner now than it had been before. The air smelled crisp and clear, diluted wood smoke scenting the wind. She missed the lavish scent of flowers that usually covered the small town, but she enjoyed the soft _squeak-squeak_ of her footsteps in the dry snow and the gentle crunching sensation as the ice crystals compacted. She had to tread lightly, however, as she could not see to avoid patches of slick ice.

She stepped off the path once again, feeling with her toes where the slight dip was before forging ahead. It was a small mercy that the undergrowth that usually tripped her feet had died and was buried beneath the snow, so she could walk unobstructed but for the trees. She fingered the withered bark delicately, almost lovingly; the trees were her ever-vigilant companions on the path to Ulquiorra's house. She stepped into their shadows, seemingly swallowed by the darkness, unaware of watchful eyes that followed her retreating back.

….

Chizuru stepped off the path a few moments later, pressing her foot exactly into Orihime's print. Looking around furtively, she went further in, finding that Oihime's footsteps led through what seemed to be the only safe way through the forest. The other sides of the path were marred by fallen trees, dead brambles, sudden dips in the earth and even what she thought to be a frozen marsh. She wondered briefly if God had helped her friend through the woods, but then shook her head violently to rid herself of the thought. No benevolent god would lead a girl safely through the woods… only to deliver her into the hands of a demon.

The roan haired woman made sure to stay a healthy distance from Orihime; the girl had unnaturally keen hearing, and if she found Chizuru, the stalker would have some explaining to do.

After what seemed to the follower to be hours of walking in the cold, (could a _man_ truly be worth all this?), Orihime stopped, coming upon a house made of worn boards. It was a nice enough home, built in a snowy hollow surrounded by peach trees that already had small, frosted buds on the ice coated branches. Chizuru held her breath as a haunting melody played on a shamisen drifted through the trunks, seeming to hover above the snow with a delicate air. A twig snapped beneath Orihime's foot and the thread of music broke with it. A few seconds later, the hiding girl had to bite her lip to keep from gasping as the cloth that covered the door was swept aside by the demon.

Pale as the snow with a demeanor just as cold, snake-like eyes the color of springtime moss, black fingernails in plain view; his black lips were downturned in a slight frown, his visage made melancholy by the twin tear tracks of darkness in his skin.

"Woman," he greeted, stepping out to meet her, his voice smooth and low, deadened and without emotion. He extended a hand and touched hers, the redhead smiling and gripped the edge of his sleeve with one hand, slipping the other under his fingers in an oddly intimate action. Chizuru shook with suppressed fear, anger, and hatred. How _dare_ that demon act so familiar, how _dare _he touch her and call her with such a general term as 'woman'!

"Good afternoon, Ulquiorra," Orihime smiled happily, "Are there buds on the trees? The sun seems warm today,"

The demon took a moment to consider the farthest reaching twigs on the branches of the trees that surrounded his home. "There are," he replied, "and the sun is warm, but it is still too cold to stand about talking outside." His voice never once fluctuated throughout the sentence; it unnerved Chizuru.

"You're right," Orihime consented, shivering slightly, and stepping forward in unison with the demon as they turned back toward the house, "I'm happy that there will be flowers soon; I like the way they smell."

"Hm."

Chizuru waited a few seconds until the pair was inside and then slunk across the snow filled hollow, sliding in a patch of hidden ice and barely recovering in time to avoid hitting the side of the house. She found herself now beside the wall, where a small chink was placed to fill a hole in a flawed board. The girl picked the chink out carefully and found that a whole sliver of wood was missing, forming a crack in the wall. She placed her eye up to the gap and peered in, shivering in the cold.

"Why did you come today, woman?" the demon, for she refused to think of him in terms of a name, asked Orihime, "Your face tells me that it is for more than to drink tea and discuss weather."

"Well…" the red head began, "You're right. I came to ask you something."

There was a pause.

"If you are going to ask, then ask," Ulquiorra- no- the devil, said in his horrible, stony voice.

"Okay then, here it goes… are you a demon?"

Chizuru could see instantly that this question affected the man in the way that his body stiffened, the way that the snake's eyes widened fractionally, in the way his grip tightened momentarily on his teacup.

"…. I am," he answered after a moment, putting his teacup down. After a moment he asked, more softly than before, "Now that you know this… you will not come anymore."

Orihime nearly spit out her mouthful of tea.

"Why wouldn't I?" she cried, "Of course I'm still coming! You being a demon explains some of your mannerisms, but to me you're still just Ulquiorra, and it has nothing to do with the way I feel about you!"

"The way you feel about me?" he murmured. Chizuru thought he looked relieved at her outburst, but it was difficult to tell, behind the pale visage of death. "And how then, is that, woman?"

"U-um…" Chizuru watched as Orihime grew greatly flustered, her face turning first cherry blossom pink and then rose red as her embarrassment grew. Finally she seemed to give up the struggle within herself. "I… I love you."

Again, a silence broke the conversation as the demon examined Orihime, his surveying eyes traveling over her face as if searching for something.

"Love? I do not understand."

"Love is…" Orihime desperately tried to piece together an explanation, "Love is when a person knows another person better than anyone else, and they accept them for who they are, all of their flaws, their faults, their past mistakes and shortcomings. Love is wanting to be with that one other person more than anything."

"I see…" Ulquiorra's green eyes glinted strangely in the half-light of the shaded house, "If that is the case, then what I feel is love."

That was the name of the pain he felt when she was gone… this poison, this 'love' hurt… but in her presence, not only did the pain stop, it became an almost giddy sense of ecstasy that he had come to associate with the place of his birth; when he was with her, he felt peace.

Chizuru ground her teeth together, willing the inevitable not to happen.

"Then I love you as well, woman."


	10. Falling

**A/N: Hello out there! Once again this is M.S. greeting you… I'd like to thank everyone for reading, it really makes my day to read all of your reviews! I won't keep you waiting any longer, as there is not any particularly exciting news to tell here, so here it is, the tenth chapter! **

Falling

Orihime blinked at Ulquiorra, shocked. Even though she had confessed, his answer was not something that she had expected. Overwhelming joy bloomed in her heart and her silvered eyes sparkled in the dull light of cloudy afternoon.

Ulquiorra watched her face, fascinated as a million emotions and more danced across her visage in the span of a second. He was not capable of doing that, he thought; humans were strange… but the woman was fascinating. He wanted her. He wanted her, and he hated it, in a way. The emptiness that had filled him for so long was disappearing, the void within him filling with sullied, _human _emotion. It was true that this feeling gave him pleasure when she was there by his side, but surely he would outlive her, and then that pain would come flooding back, and his peace would become utter chaos. Perhaps he would lose his mind.

And the woman called this dangerous feeling 'love'. This 'love' made he, who had been cold for so long, feel something akin to warmth in his chest.

And yet…. And yet…. He could not make her happy, he knew. He was a demon, and she was a human. She would be ridiculed, scorned, mocked, hated; she would be as he was, an outcast from all but his own kind. Beyond that she would have no place to belong but by his side.

Ulquiorra surprised himself as a jealous part of him decided that he _liked _that. If she had nowhere to be but with him, then he would _like _that. No one else would have her.

He was at a loss as the two parts of his mind, one the cold, calculating bit he had been brought to life with him and the other the warmer part that the woman had brought to him pulled in opposite directions.

The woman caught his attention, distracting from the horrible feeling of indecision as her fingers quested forward, searching for a touch. Ulquiorra raised his hand to hers, and splayed his fingers against her own. His hand was larger than hers, but she was infinitely warmer. Before now that heat had repelled him; he had always seen humans as sick creatures, burning with whim-like passions that passed in an instant… but now the heat drew him in and for a moment he longed to be warm like she.

Ulquiorra leaned toward Orihime until she could feel his breath tickling her ear and throat.

"What you're doing…" he murmured almost sadly to her, "is like throwing yourself over a waterfall without knowing how deep the pool is below. There may be stones waiting to dash your body to pieces, or you may drown. You'll be hurt, or worse."

"Ah," Orihime whispered to him, "But what a glorious flight between the top and the bottom."

She surprised him by closing the distance between them and placing her lips against his in a gentle yet heated kiss. His body confused him further as he felt himself respond, placing his free hand on her shoulder to pull her closer to him even as her hand locked itself in his hair. He was far out of his realm of experience; he thought that his eyes had witnessed everything in existence, and here, a human woman proved him wrong.

Their minds went blissfully blank as they enjoyed the moment, living for nothing but the present.

At last Ulquiorra pulled away, watching as Orihime gasped for breath, her chest heaving and cheeks flushed. Something was amiss. He could have sworn he had heard a low curse, a muttered sound of agonized fury…

His green eyes turned to slits as he caught sight of a single brown eye gazing through a hole in the wall. He watched the pupil shrink in terror, heard a horrified gasp, but the eye did not move. It seemed that the owner was paralyzed. A strand of deep roan hair fell across the gap for a second, giving away the owner of the livid stare. It was the one that the woman called Chizuru.

How _dare _that _human _watch something that private? Nothing physical had happened that would be considered out of the ordinary, but for a common, filthy, swine of a human to see him exposing his heart to the woman…

Knowing that the spy was watching his every move, Ulquiorra widened his eyes to a piercing glare of fury as anger welled up within him and mouthed a single word.

'Leave.'

Chizuru needed no other dismissal. She ran for mortal fear.

"U-Ulquiorra?" the woman's hand was reaching for him again as she regained her breath, "where did you go?"

"There was a rat," he replied calmly despite the furious trembling in his chest, for her sake. Who knew what would happen if that wench, that Chizuru, opened her mouth about this to the village? "But beside that… it grows late, woman. Your friends will worry if you do not return, is this correct?"

"Oh…" Orihime looked a bit disappointed, but she knew he was right, "That is true… I should be going, I guess," she stood up, "Goodbye, Ulquiorra,"

"I'll be returning to your home with you," he told her as he gained his feet as well.

"R-really?" the woman cried happily.

"Is it that shocking?" he asked as he extended a hand to her to guide her to the door. He watched as she slipped her feet into her sandals. She had very small feet.

"No, it's just…" the flush that had been fading from her cheeks seemed to glow in the half light as it returned with a vengeance, "You don't…. don't do this often."

"I see," he replied as she linked an arm through his. He noticed, not for the first time how nice she smelled. In the autumn she had carried the scent of wildflowers; now she had a clean smell, like virgin snow.

The pair of them drifted through the frozen wood as darkness began to descend, and by the time they reached the edge of the forest it the full moon was drifting behind a veil of clouds, visible despite the fact that the sun had not completely gone down.

Ulquiorra stopped at the edge of the woods, dragging Orihime to a halt with him. His hooded gaze burned as he caught sight of a familiar figure.

"What's the matter?" the woman asked. She stepped forward into the middle of the path, and he allowed himself to be brought along.

"There is…" Ulquiorra was interrupted by a shout.

"Orihime!"

"Kurosaki-kun?" she wondered, sounding startled as she turned her face in the direction of the red headed sword smith.

"Get away from her, Ulquiorra," the young man demanded lowly from the far end of the path in the direction of Tatsuki's house. Orihime opened her mouth to say something, but she merely squeaked as she heard a rustle of fabric and felt Ulquiorra shift to stand in front of her.

"You have no right to command me, human," Ulquiorra answered flatly, taking a defiant stance, his posture full of contempt. Ichigo snarled, stepping forward aggressively.

"And you have no right to take a _human _woman as a companion, demon! You'll destroy her!" The boy's words struck a nerve in Ulquiorra.

"I will do no such thing fool!" he spat. Orihime shied from the venom in his tone, all at once fearful because of the tension in the air and happy that Ulquiorra would take such offence at the suggestion.

"You will!" Ichigo shot back, beginning to advance on the pale man in black, "Even if you do it by accident you _will_! No matter how hard you try, you are not one of us, and you never will be! I've heard of what you've done in the past! You're a monster!"

Ulquiorra gave a scornful sneer, "You think I want to be human? You call _me _a monster, and yet you do not see demons fighting wars, and destroying their own species! I am _glad _I don't belong to your kind, boy. We might kill your kind, but only because of your violent, selfish, tendencies toward us."

"Then stay away from Orihime," Ichigo growled, "If we're violent, selfish monsters like you say, stay away from her. Let her life be lead in a _human_ way." He was quite close by now, probably only a foot away from Ulquiorra. Orihime bit her lip and dug her fingers into the demon's arm. She felt him twist to look at her.

"You've upset the woman, brat. And I will not stay away from her. I love her." Ulquiorra's plain way of speech made this declaration all the more serious. It was Ichigo's turn to laugh.

"If you love her, then you'll leave her alone! If you stay with her, you'll drive away anyone else who might take her!"

"Don't talk as if you understand," Ulquiorra said flatly; the rising moon made his skin appear ultra white as the sun sank further, "But I have already thought about what you've said about scaring everyone else off. If you want to make me leave, you'll have to drive me away. Think of me as a fox among chickens."

"More of a serpent among children," Ichigo bit out.

"Perhaps," Ulquiorra answered calmly, all traces of anger gone but for his eyes, which glowed with green balefire.

It was Ichigo who threw the first punch; Ulquiorra ducked beneath his fist with ease, weaving his way away from the woman to keep her out of the fight. In her sightless state it would be all too easy for her to fall prey to a stray strike.

"Won't you draw your blade, boy?" Ulquiorra asked blackly, eyes sparking as his own pale fingers drifted toward his scabbard.

"I will not," Ichigo retorted in an equally virulent manner, raising his fists to eye level, "we will fight barehanded."

"If that is what you wish," the demon said haughtily, stepping in for a counter attack. His hand became a white streak in the freezing night air as he straightened his fingers and preformed a sharp jab that landed in Ichigo's stomach. The red headed young man's breath wooshed out of him and he stumbled back a bit to regain his breath.

Orihime listened to this and wanted to cry. Her first love and Ulquiorra were exchanging blows… it almost hurt to listen. One of them would get hurt, she was sure of it.

Ichigo came back up swinging, infuriated by the way Ulquiorra stood nonchalantly but was still able to dodge so effortlessly; It was like throwing punches at air. His fist whistled past the pale, emotionless face, whipping through pitch black hair before he was driven back again, Ulquiorra's elbow driving into his chest.

Ichigo choked, but did not back down and instead threw himself at Ulquiorra in a blind rage, tackling him to the ground, turning a fist fight into a wrestling match. The demon grunted in pain as the blacksmith landed on his chest and crushed the air from his lungs.

Orihime heard them fighting and began to shout at them, her voice nearly drowned out by Ichigo's loud swearing.

"Stop it! Stop it! Please stop it!" Orihime screamed. She couldn't bear to have the two of them like that.

"Damn it!" Ichigo roared as Ulquiorra bucked out from under him and regained his feet before the red head had a chance to get up. The flat of Ulquiorra's foot collided with Ichigo's ribs, throwing the young man across the rough ground.

"Shit!" Ichigo yelled, rolling over with what was at least one fractured rib. Ulquiorra advanced slowly, almost uncaringly, on the kneeling figure of his assailant. Ichigo lunged again, and this time Ulquiorra was ready. He kicked the boy in the chest, sending him stumbling away.

"Stop it!" Orihime cried again, but her plea went unheard by the infuriated pair.

Tatsuki, however, was not deaf to the shouting, and she opened her door to see two figures locked in a brawl before her panicked friend. Thinking them to be drunks she ran forward to drag the two apart, but stopped as she recognized them. She watched as a pale fist landed a double hit in Ichigo's face. She was impressed; the colorless man, who had to be Ulquiorra, was no slouch when it came to fighting. Ichigo returned by kicking at his opponent, but the demon stepped unhurriedly out of the way.

Tatsuki decided to step in before the fight got any worse.

"Hey!" she bellowed to get their attention, "This is _over_, you hear me? You two are _done_ here!"

The demon took a step back, his facial expression remained unchanged, as icy as the moon in its fury. Orihime stepped uncertainly forward and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his as her breath rose like mist on the chill air. Tatsuki noticed that no steam rose from Ulquiorra's breath, but he was certainly breathing. He would have to be terribly, inhumanly cold for that to be possible.

Ichigo, however, would not let Ulqiorra have the last blow, and instead of conceding the end of the match, punched Ulquiorra in the mouth. The pale man did not move, and did not dodge. Instead, he cocked his head, cracking his neck, and spat blood contemptuously in Ichigo's face.

"How very human of you," he said flatly.

"Ulquiorra…" Orihime squeaked as she felt a warm fleck of blood fall on her cheek. He wiped a thin trail of blood from his split lip with his sleeve, smearing the red liquid in an ugly streak across white skin.

He stared at the sanguine on his fingers as it appeared vivid against his flesh. Red on white…. The colors of oblivion he noted for the second time.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Dum-da-da-daaaaahhh! Chapter 11! I don't know why, but nearing the end of this is making me both excited and a bit depressed. **

**Just to let everyone know, when this story is all wrapped up, I will be publishing a Ggio/Soi fic on request, with side pairings of Ulquihime, Grimnel, Ichiruki, Kisuke/Yorichi to name a few, in case anyone is interested. **

**I won't bother you anymore, here is your Wednesday update! Cheers!**

Burning Devils

"But _why_ did you _do _that?" Tatsuki shouted at Ichigo, now in the safety of the home, and with a pack of snow pressed to his swollen eye.

Ichigo shrugged noncommittally, and catching Tatsuki's eye, knew it would be an insufficient answer. He sighed quietly, wanting to avoid frustrating the raging brunette further.

"I was trying to convince him that no matter what he did, he's not good for Orihime," the hot headed boy mumbled, "but fighting's all I know how to do…"

"How do you figure he's no good for her?" Tatsuki asked. She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. The thought had crossed her own mind many times, if he was thinking what she knew he was.

"I don't _know_… he's just so much stronger than we are… if he slipped in his self control for even a second he might kill her…" Ichigo looked miserable, and Tatsuki sympathized with him.

"This is something Orihime needs to do on her own, Ichigo," she answered with a soft exhalation of mingled annoyance and understanding, "and…"

Orihime chose that moment to reenter the room, another pack of snow in her hands; it was somewhat larger than the one held to Ichigo's face. She slid her feet forward carefully until she felt the heat radiating from his body, kneeling there by his knees.

"This is for your ribs," she said, holding out the damp cloth that was wrapped around the pack of ice. Her fingertips were beginning to turn a bit blue; she had spent quite a while scrapping the snow off the ground for Ichigo. That alone proved how much she valued him, even if her feelings were no longer to the affect of love.

"How did you know that I…." The red haired young man started in surprise, and Orihime shook her head sadly, cloudy eyes passing over his face without recognition.

"Ulquiorra said he felt your ribs crack when he kicked you; he tried to be gentle with you, but he was so angry…" Ichigo flashed a look at Tatsuki, as if to say 'I told you so.'

"How could you tell he was mad?" Tatsuki wondered after catching Ichigo's glare, "Even when Ichigo sucker punched him his face didn't change at all, and nor did his voice."

"_You _might not be able to tell," Orihime sighed, "but he _does _get upset. It's not in his voice or face, but the way he moves, talks, feels… I don't know, it's hard to explain, but I know. I just know… listen, I think one of you should come with me to see him sometime soon… perhaps two days from now, to give him time to calm down a bit."

"_What_?" Ichigo cried sharply, causing Orihime to wince. She knew he would be upset by the proposition… and it was obvious that Ulquiorra was less than fond of Ichigo, but all the same…

"So not Ichigo," Tatsuki said coolly, giving a quick look to the red headed boy, "I guess I'll go with you. But why?"

The blind girl shrugged as she turned her empty gaze in Tatsuki's direction.

"To get him used to others, I suppose," she said in reply. It would be good, she thought, to let him at least adapt to being around humans without being incredibly high strung. Knowing him, his interactions with _anyone_ would be brief, involving very few words, but it was better than nothing.

"A demon, getting used to people…" Ichigo snorted under his breath; it could only ever end badly, but Tatsuki would not allow him to make a move. If she didn't allow it, she was Orihime's main caretaker, and he could do nothing against her.

And so he would watch, and wait. It was all he could do.

…

"The demon?" Yorichi Shihoin leaned forward, her short kimono pulling tight across her breasts, and revealing her bandage bound calves and bare feet, "You mean the one who lives in the woods on the north end of the village?"

"Yes, the one known as the Morobito," Chizuru replied, kneeling respectfully before the panel of the four great houses. The panel consisted of the Shihoin, the Kuchiki, the Feng, and the Kasumioji heads; on the far right was Yorichi, the one who had spoken first. She was a wild one, reproached by her family for refusing noble marriage, insisting on marrying the itinerate merchant known as Kisuke Urahara. Beside her was Byakuya Kuchiki, a tall, proud man who kept to the rules at all times; he seemed to hate the Shihoin head, a feeling which the strangely exotic woman ignored stubbornly. To the left of the Kuchiki representative was the leader of the Feng household, Sui Feng. She was a distinctly masculine woman, short and lithe, with her hair in twin braids. She kept charge of the ninja clan that inhabited the village. Lastly, on the left was the head of the Kasumioji, a very young girl with blonde hair, in the company of her two attendants.

It was the morning after Chizuru's spying escapade into the woods, and beside Chizuru knelt Kobayashi, the scroll maker, to bring testimony against Ulquiorra. Truly all decisions in the village were made by the village head, Genryusai Yamamoto, but to get to him, one had to take civil matters through the four noble houses first.

"The Morobito has never cause any trouble," Byakuya said in his deep, measured voice, "I don't see why he should be expelled from his home. It is unnecessary."

"T-that thing is unnatural!" Kobayashi blurted out suddenly. Realizing his mistake he quickly shut up and dipped his gaze to the floor boards between his hands, bowing low. Chizuru watched as Yorichi cocked her head curiously, Byakuya watched indifferently, Sui Feng narrowed her silver eyes in distaste, and the young Kasumoiji, Rurichiyo, grew distracted with a fray in her kimono.

"Explain," Sui Feng commanded flatly, her iron stare unsettling.

"Have you ever seen it?" Chizuru asked with a shudder, "As pale as a dead man with black nails and lips, and snakes eyes the color of green moss, with black markings on his face. It's hideous,"

"I could say the same of Shihoin," Byakuya said blankly, "But here, looks account for nothing."

"You-!" Sui Feng started in angrily, but she was cut off by Yorichi's uproarious laughter.

"Well played, Bya-kun!" She laughed so hard tears started from her eyes, "Well played!"

While this was happening, Rurichiyo began whispering to one of her attendants discontentedly.

Chizuru watched, nonplussed. She was _serious_ here! What was wrong with them! Couldn't they see that this was important?

"It's going after a village girl!" the young woman shouted. There was a sudden hush in the room as seven pairs of eyes turned on her. She swallowed drily as she continued, "The thing is going after Orihime Inoue."

"The blind girl?" Yorichi's face was clear of all traces of laughter now. She looked dead serious.

"Yes,"

"What do you mean, 'going after'?" Sui Feng asked irritably.

"He feigns love to grow close to her; her eyes are sightless, so she cannot see what a monster he is, but he is known to have lived by the sword before fleeing here," Chizuru said.

"We know of his background," Sui Feng snapped.

"He wants to devour her, body and soul, by drawing close to her," the pink haired woman finished, her voice shaking.

This, she truly believed. There was no way that a thing like him could truly love a woman of the same species that he had formerly detested so. One only had to look at his face to see how much he hated humans. That stare he had sent her when he caught her spying had sent a lance of pure terror through her heart… even now she could feel where the gaze had burned her, and she looked quickly over her shoulder; what if he came after her? He _hated _humans! So why Orihime? There was no proper reason.

"Is this true?" Byakuya asked, looking at Kobayashi. Chizuru silently prayed that the man would answer correctly.

"Y-yes," he said nervously, flicking black hair out of his eyes, "The demon has terrorized my shop enough for me to know that he would never love a human woman."

He was smarter than she had originally thought, that Kobayashi. He had taken the words directly from her mouth before she had a chance to speak them. She thanked the gods. If she could get rid of the demon… if she could save her princess, she would do anything. Even if it meant not telling the council the whole truth.

The four noble houses deliberated for a moment before Byakuya turned to them as said: "We shall take your matter to Yamamoto-sama. You may go."

Chizuru stood unhappily; it wasn't fast enough. Often times it took weeks for the old man and the council to deliberate over an issue. But to take things into her own hands….

She left the room with Kobayashi; as soon as they were outside, she turned to him.

"Thank you for your help… but…"

"But?"

"I need one more favor," Chizuru told him directly.

"Oh?" he looked a bit surprised.

"I need you to 'accidently' tell people about what the demon is doing. Many people here like Orihime; if they think she's in danger, then…"

"Then they will take care of things on their own," Kobayashi finished for her, "Consider it done. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

With that he walked away, not another word spoken between them.

By nightfall, a crowd had gathered at the edge of the forest.

….

"Come, it lies this way…"

"The thing must be killed."

"Eat or be eaten,"

"But perhaps it is too strong?"

"We have many people with us, and the element of surprise."

"It must be destroyed.

"Destroy the demon."

"Destroy the demon."

"_Destroy the demon._"

The mob seethed around her like a tide, and Chizuru felt a distinct thrill of pride to see the work of her hands moving around her with such bloodlust. This would save her princess for sure. Orihime would be saved from the demon by Chizuru's doing and forethought.

Among the mob was Kobayashi the scroll maker, Ishida the scribe, Ren the sawyer's son, and many others from the village, almost all of them male, but not so that the group was entirely masculine. A few of Sui Feng's female ninja had decided by their own will to attend the battle, should it come to a full fight.

All carried some manner of weapon in their hand, whether it be a sword, a kitchen cleaver, a scythe, a weaving needle, or a torch. If it came to a fight, the people were prepared. They did not go into the forest intending to die.

Intentions pave the devil's road, as the saying goes.

…..

Ulquiorra plucked disconsolately at his shamisen strings from the confines of his home, the scent of peach blossoms flooding the room; it was early spring, and the buds that had slept dormant in their coats of ice had barely begun to split open and had begun draw drowsy bees from their chilled hive. All of this splendor was wasted on him in the cool night as he played his instrument with an almost reluctant feel. He had little else to do, however, so he began to play the tune of Rokudan No Shirabe, in a trance-like state somewhere between sleeping and consciousness. He never really slept, but he rested like this every once and a while. He never really was comfortable with letting his guard down… like a stray cat that sleeps with one eye open.

To his ears the notes suddenly sounded broken and discordant, and so he stopped playing. As he did so there was a crash somewhere above his head, and then a roar that he recognized well: fire. The sounds that had previously escaped his notice now pervaded his senses almost violently. Shouting people, burning pitch, heat against his skin from his blazing straw roof as the fire caught on the bamboo mats of the floor and blocked the exit, the smoke that blinded him and suffocated him all at once…

The villagers outside his home were roaring approval as his home burned to the ground.

He felt fury welling up in him and he decided it was time that the filth of the village knew fear. How was it that the woman belonged to the same breed as they? It was like comparing a starved city mongrel to the proud mountain she-wolf. It was time that those mongrels realized and accepted their filthy human role as trash.

…..

Chizuru watched the blaze with undisguised relish, enjoying every spark that flew into the air, blinking like a star against the night before winking out. As of yet nothing had happened, and she wondered whether the demon was even in the house, for it could not possibly be that easy to destroy something like him… a monster like that would surely put up at least a _little _bit of a fight, right?

There was a sudden loud crash, and at first Chizuru thought that the roof had caved in. But rather than collapsing downward, the burning thatch exploded outward, and something flew out into the sky.

Her heart stopped as she saw what it was that fell.

A dark heart pulsed in a whirlwind of sparks, a piece of the night itself, the object landed and revealed itself to a tightly wrapped bundle of leathery wings, the black fur that covered them like velvet smoldering brightly against the deep-shadow black. The acrid smell of burning hair reached her nose before the object unfolded itself. The wings appeared to be those of a bat, and yet… and yet… Her mind struggled to accept what she saw.

The wings shot open with blinding speed and revealed the naked torso of the demon, his skin blindingly white against the darkness; his eyes had turned golden and piercing like those of an osprey, gleaming hungrily above wide swaths of black that painted his cheeks. Twin white horns spiraled up from his head, and it was easy to see from the way he crouched with one clawed hand against the earth that his lower half was covered in black fur from the waist down, his feet having turned into four toed, wicked talons, like those of a bird of prey. A thin tail with a tuft of fur at the end cracked the air like a whip as the demon stood, gaining his full height and extending his wings to their span of a grand nearly twenty feet.

Chizuru nearly choked on her terror.

It was not that easy to destroy something like him, she thought again, perhaps impossible.

He is a monster.

A devil.


	12. Wings of Death

**A/N: Guys, I gotta admit… I feel like jumping off a cliff… after hunting down Tite Kubo and killing him! It was bad enough when he had Ulquiorra, Stark, and Grimmjow killed, but now he's gone too far! Byakuya…. Poor Byakun! *tears***

**Sigh…. Well, here's your chapter guys… one left after this! That means that the epic tale will conclude on MY Wednesday… some of you are very far from my time zone, so it could be Thursday for you; All I can say is that the final chapter will be at least twice as long as the rest of the posts. :P **

Wings of Death

Ulquiorra stood, cracking the air with his tail as he whipped it furiously back and forth like an angry cat. It had been so long since he had taken his complete form that his wings were stiff from disuse; he stretched them wide, shaking his head to get used to the weight of the horns that extended from his skull. The heavy bone spirals were comforting in a way, the dark folds of his wings making him feel at home, even in the alien world of humans that he had slowly grown accustomed to… his true form made him feel at ease.

The humans seemed so insignificant before him… the heat at his back felt good, and the scent of fear replaced that of smoke, swirling high in the air as the crowd got a good look at him. Among them he recognized several of the villagers, like the paper maker who he had frequented. All were armed with some manner of tool, often household objects. One young boy held a sharpened stick while another was equipped with a clumsily made kitchen blade.

A mob, it seemed, intent on driving him out. Well… he had stood it before.

A shout broke the silence as a foolish boy who could not have been more then sixteen years of age plunged forward, wielding a sword that he obviously could not use very effectively. It swayed, unbalanced in his hand; his grip was too high up, and he held the blade in only one hand, when it was a weapon obviously meant to be wielded with both. Ulquiorra sidestepped nonchalantly before delivering a sharp blow with one of his wings that sent the attacker flying. He fell face down and sis not stir; Ulquiorra could still hear his pulse and breathing, but he doubted that the humans could tell whether or not he was still alive. Energy pulsed within him, and strength that he had previously kept pent up overflowed. Relative quiet was restored to the clearing.

"Demon," a voice called out over the roar of fire, "Morobito or whatever you are, I have come to kill you."

Golden eyes identified the speaker: a haughty young man with a thin face, blue eyes, and black hair that hung in his eyes. He had the fine hands and long fingers of a scribe, but in his hands he held an oddly crafted bow of white wood painted with designs of blue. Held along the string was a white arrow, fletched with blue bird feathers from the continent, tipped with iron.

"What makes you think you can do it, trash?" Ulquiorra asked flatly, staring blankly at the overly confident person, who seemed to be the woman's own age. The woman… a slight tug at the back of his mind disturbed him, and for a fraction of a second he became unsettled. He shook the feeling of quickly, the anger that he hid behind his blank expression pounding in his ears.

"I am a Quincy," he announced proudly, "the last of a noble race of famed archers; by my honor as a Quincy, I will destroy you!"

"Hn," Ulquiorra's voice was soft but carrying none the less, "So do it, if you're able."

The boy drew back and fired three arrows in the span of time it took most people to fire one; while he was mildly surprised by the speed, Ulquiorra was not caught unawares, and he deflected each missile with a flick of his wings, which would not be pierced by the metal tips. Despite their thin, membrane-like appearance, his wings were harder than granite.

Another barrage of arrows came from a different angle, and those too were blocked. Ulquiorra began to grow annoyed by the constant distraction that came in the form of the humming bowstring and whistling arrows when a stone flew from the group of people who seemed to draw courage from the Quincy's foolish assault. The stone barely reached him, landing at his feet and clicking off one of his talons. His yellowed eyes swept the crowd, pulled away from the bow wielding idiot for a second and-

_sssSSK- THUD_

Ulquiorra looked passionlessly at the white shaft now protruding from his shoulder, the pale wood stained black with his blood, before he raised his sight back to his attacker. He lunged forward, ignoring his wound and drawing his temper firmly under his control. It would do no good to lose it now. Extending his wings, he launched himself forward and glided across the clearing rather than taking the time to run.

In an instant he was almost nose to nose with the Quincy; he doubted if the human eye could even follow his movements. His hand closed around his opponent's throat and the boy was slammed ruthlessly against a tree, cracking the trunk and shaking new petals down.

Ulquiorra wrapped the young man's forearm in a tight noose with his tail and with one decisive jerk both dislocated the shoulder and broke the wrist, pulling the elbow loose. The demon released his hold as the Quincy screamed, his body collapsing when he hit the ground, and turned in time to block a clumsy sword thrust. Rather than sinking the blade into Ulquiorra's neck, Ulquiorra's raised arm took the blow.

It was the paper maker, his pupils dilated in terror, his breathing hard.

"I hope you enjoyed that little victory," Ulquiorra said flatly as inky blood fell in rivers down his forearm. Kobayashi made and odd choking noise and spewed sanguine from his open mouth as the demon thrust a fist through his chest, crushing his lungs and heart in one blow, killing him before the body had even dropped.

The smell of human blood enflamed him and brought him down to his senses at the same time.

The woman had made it clear how much she loved the people of her village. By killing them he was destroying her happiness, destroying her love. He paused in his assault.

A kitchen cleaver caught him in a glancing blow as he pulled aside too late and cut off two fingers. He looked at his hand disinterestedly as the fingers grew back, the bubbling white flesh taking form and exploding out of the bloody black wound. He flexed his hand and decided it was time for him to make his exit.

The thought of causing the woman pain, even if it was something emotional he was destined never to understand, gave him a feeling he did not know. It caught in his throat and constricted his chest to think of her pain, and he did not like it. It was a pain different then when they were apart… this was worse, because he did not know if it would fade. He wondered if she would get angry; no, she would probably cry, if she could.

He had never done anything for anyone's sake but his own, and he had never fled a battle, but now…

Ulquiorra raised one hand in the air and gathered an unearthly green lance into his fist. He drew his arm back and threw, the weapon darting away and blowing up with such force that even those not directly caught by the explosion were thrown to the ground, peppered with shrapnel and many received burns. While they were distracted, he spread his wings wide and prepared to take off.

As the demon raised his eyes, his gaze locked with Chizuru's for a second before he found his way into the sky with one flap of his wings, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind no evidence of his presence but for a trail of dark blood, two fingers, and many, many injured or dying.

…

Chizuru stood, stiff and trembling with fear, her kimono hanging off one shoulder, in a clearing full of the dead, dying, and wounded. The copper scent of blood was cloying on the smoke filled air, and all around her hung moans of pain, cries of sorrow, and wails of fury. A whole section of the forest had been blasted away, leaving behind smoldering wreckage and a hot pink imprint of the flash on her eyes. Kobayashi was dead, lying on red earth, and the scribe, the Quincy sat double over and pale, holding his arm together, fingers dangling uselessly.

How had it come to this? Had her intentions not been pure? Hadn't she only had everyone's best interest at heart?

_Sometimes, there are things better left undisturbed_, a thought ran through her head, _like knocking a hornet's nest out of a tree; a single hornet may sting someone, but the swarm will kill you if you give it the opportunity._

…_._

"Twenty-one minor injuries, eighteen severe damages, a section of the forest gone, four houses burned, and worst of all, nine dead. Tell me how this came to pass," Byakuya said curtly, glaring down at Chizuru, who had yet to regain her composure even the morning after. Her hands still shook, her legs refused to support her, and she had done little more to improve her appearance than to straighten her kimono. And now the council stood in front of her house.

"T-things just e-escalated…" she squeaked.

"My informants tell me that you and the papermaker stirred people up to go after the demon," Sui Feng snapped, "And now, _after _the village head refuses your request to get rid of the Morobito do we find out that you chased it off yourself… at the cost of lives!"

"I don't understand what would have possessed you to take such actions," Yorichi said, shaking her head. Today they hadn't brought the little girl with them, so it was just the older three of the noble houses.

"I didn't want anything to happen to Orihime," Chizuru sobbed, "I didn't think that the demon would fight…. Fight like… that," she began to choke on her tears, "and he wasn't even _trying_! That thing is a monster!"

"'Is' a monster? You mean that even though you sacrificed so much, you didn't manage to kill it?" Sui Feng barked at her. Yorichi touched her arm to calm her, and the steely-eyed woman abated for the moment.

"We both know that the Morobito would be far too strong for ordinary people; that's why Yamamoto didn't approve the issue," the dark skinned lady told her, "But if he's not dead, then…"

"H-he was chased off. We burned his h-home," Chizuru sniffed, "and we hurt him. He flew away.

"It will have to do for the time being," Byakuya said flatly. He looked at Chizuru with a cold glare, "You had best pray to the gods that thing doesn't come back to exact himself on this village."

"If it comes to that," Sui Feng said coldly to the young girl, "then will just throw you to him and be done with it."

…..

"Tatsuki," Orihime called through the doorway, waiting, impatient with excitement, "If we don't leave soon, he might not be there when we arrive!"

"Hold on, hold on," the tomboy reprimanded, "I can't very easily walk there with only one sandal on, and I can't find the other!"

"Alright," the red head sighed, "but hurry!"

"Found it!" the black haired girl smiled, pulling the sandal out from beneath her front step, "we can go now, I suppose,"

"Hooray!"

Tatsuki smiled at her friend as the girl jumped up excitedly; the blind girl had always been so optimistic despite her handicap, always hiding her sadness behind her smile. She was cheerful, sweet, beautiful… everything a man could want.

As they walked, Orihime chattered about a lot of things, but mostly Ulquiorra.

"And anyway, he plays the most beautiful song on his shamisen," she continued as they went, "I really hope you get to hear him play; it's usually what he does at this time of day, since he doesn't leave until later, and he doesn't have work to do other than write music."

"I see," Tatsuki mused, "writing music, huh?"

"Yup! He writes things that make you emotional, but I'm not sure how, because he doesn't seem to have a very good grasp on his own emotions… Ah! This one time he was telling me…"

The two friends enjoyed one another's company for a bit more before Tatsuki began to grow uneasy. The forest around her was silent, and there was a deeply entrenched smell of soot on the air. It took her a moment to realize it, but Orihime had stopped walking, and had fallen silent.

"It's too quiet," she said blankly, "And this smell…"

"What?"

"The birds," she said, fear creeping into her tone, "there are always birds here. And we should be able to hear his music by now. And instead of flowers I smell smoke, and… and something else…"

The girl began to feel her way along desperately with terror painting her features, Tatsuki helping her along, but almost having to struggle to keep up with her friend's pace.

Orihime ran ahead, and Tatsuki's cry of warning caught in her throat as she saw what was ahead: nothing but the charred remains of a home and a peach grove. There was nothing there but blood and blackness.

Orihime stumbled over a burned beam that crumbled beneath her foot. Placing her hand down she felt the cold, wet ash.

"Hey," she said, voice trembling, "where is he? Ulquiorra?"

Tatsuki watched her friend reach out helplessly, looking almost childlike in her search.

"There was a fire, right? But where are you?" her voice rose, "Where is he? He can't be gone, he just can't!"

Tatsuki touched her shoulder, "There's nothing here, Hime. Just blood, wood, and burned tools… no, be careful, you'll cut your hand on that sword!"

"Sword?" Orihime looked at the ground, "Someone came to… hurt him? He's gone now?"

She lunged forward and began to flail out, looking for something to grasp; Tatsuki bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to call out too late to her friend. Orihime's fingers spread across a dead man's face for half a second before the girl drew back.

"They really did try to… to k-kill him, didn't they? He fought with them, but now he… he can't be dead! He just _can't_! He's _NOT!_" the last word was a scream, a shriek filled with agony, horror, fury…

Tatsuki almost cried out in shock. Tears were running down her friends' cheeks, spread out from her ruined eyes and dripping into the bloody soil. The girl began to simply scream at the sky, wordlessly as her anguish loosed itself in the salt water flowed from her eyes.

"Do you hear that, Ulquiorra?" Tatsuki whispered, swaying where she stood, feeling the weight of Orihime's emotion heavy in the air, "That is the saddest cry I've ever heard."


	13. The Color of Oblivion

**A/N: Here it is guys… the final chapter. Almost three times as long as all the others as a way of going out with a bag… I just wanted to thank everyone for seeing this through to the end, you've all made me very happy with your reviews, and I hope you've enjoyed it thoroughly. **

The Color of Oblivion (The Notes of a Shamisen)

"I hear it,"

Tatsuki bit her knuckles to keep from screaming, eyes going wide with shock as she recognized the deep, flat voice. She didn't understand, how could he be-?

"I hear it," he repeated tonelessly, roughly, "Take care of her for me."

Tatsuki whipped around, if only to confirm that it _was _him, and that she _wasn't_ insane; she felt a light breeze against her cheek as she turned, and by the time she was facing the other way, he was far back in the trees, staring at her from between the white trunks and almost disappearing in the shadows. Gold pinpricks marked where his gaze had settled on her, the unnatural stare making the short cropped hair at the back of her neck stand on end.

Ulquiorra.

He had lost much of his human semblance, gaining horns, wings, a tail and what seemed to be the lower half of a bat or bird of prey; in his right hand he held a fine katana with a dark hilt. His pale torso was painted black with gore, and his ochre eyes glared at her with a message, his words barely reached her on the wind.

"Take care of her," his voice blended with the clattering of dead and blackened branches, "Please."

Tatsuki blinked, and he was gone, a single wing beat mixing with the breeze to mark his exit.

Behind her, Orihime wept silently.

…..

Ichigo swiped a rag across his hands, absentmindedly clearing them of the built up ash from the forge, thinking of what he had heard from Rukia. It was going to cause problems, what Chizuru did, for a lot of people.

For one thing, corpses were _everywhere. _There were only nine dead, not a high toll considering what could had happened to that group that had consisted of almost fifty, but the bodies were messy. Kobayashi had a hole the size of a sapling trunk in his chest, for one. Ren had a broken neck, three others were burned beyond recognition. The remaining four had been killed in the strange green blast, having been thrown forward at the impact, showered with spires of stone and shattered trees in the shrapnel… he could almost hear that massive explosion echoing in his ears again, as he had heard it from his home. Everyone had heard, had seen, had _felt _that massive blast that had destroyed a section of the forest.

Even as he thought this there was a clatter near the doorway; turning his head to look, he saw Orihime raging toward him, the sunlight catching her hair and tuning it bright as fire, and her tears to diamond. Ichigo gazed in shock at the water pouring from her ruined eyes, so surprised by her sudden appearance that he almost didn't take in the meaning of her shouting.

"Orihime-" Ichigo started, but she was not to be distracted. She reached out and caught hold of the front of his kosode, dragging on the collar.

"What _happened_?" she sobbed, "Why is everything burned like that? There are dead people-"

"I don't know," Ichigo said too quickly, hoping to divert the inevitable emotional storm. Orihime glared at him furiously from her milky eyes, and lashed out with a blind, openhanded strike that landed on his cheek with a loud _slap_. Ichigo saw Tatsuki slide into the open door, almost losing her footing in her haste.

"Don't lie," the red headed girl whispered brokenly, "Rukia tells you everything. You know. What happened?"

"Uh…." Ichigo stood stock still, one hand to his reddening cheek, brown eyes flicking up to Tatsuki's face for a moment before he mouthed, '_What do I do?'_

"Tell her, Ichigo," Tatsuki said despairingly, "Don't hide anything either. Just lay it all out there for her, like it is. It'll be for the best if the truth comes to light."

"Alright," the young man sighed, "Alright, alright. Here's what I know. A… a _mob _I guess, I don't know what else it would be, went into the woods late last night and burned down the demon's home in an attempt to smoke him out… it went really wrong though, I mean _really _wrong. There's…" Ichigo paused, watching Orihime's face, "There are nine dead, two more who are likely to die from injury, and some twenty-odd more with mild damages."

"And... him?"

"Dead," he said tiredly, "They got him in the end, at the cost of more than a few lives. Oh," Ichigo added as an afterthought; Tatsuki had said to lay it _all _out there, so that's what he would do, "The mob was lead by Chizuru."

Orihime fell to her knees, suddenly weak. Her face went blank, and she became silent, sagging forward with the weight of knowledge. All thought left her, only a deep, primal throb filling her; she supposed she had already known he was dead. If he was alive, he would have come for her. He would have heard her in that clearing. And it wasn't like she could go look for the body… he wouldn't even get a proper burial. The crows in the forest would pull him apart…

For an instant she saw a crow burying its beak in a dark mass and pulling up with a green snakes' eye dangling…

This imagery filled her mind, a picture floating on a sea of despair.

….

Late that night, long after she had ensured that Orihime had cried herself sleep, Tatsuki crept to the forge and found her red headed friend standing outside, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest.

"What did you want to tell me?" Ichigo asked Tatsuki as soon as she was within whispering range, "It had better be pretty damn important for me to lose sleep over it."

"Ulquiorra's not dead," Tatsuki hissed. Ichigo stared at her, eyebrows furrowing over his brown eyes, hidden in moonshadow.

"You're sure?" he asked, "Rukia said that she thought that the thing _had _to be dead, because-"

"I saw him. Earlier, when we were in the woods by the wreckage, he hid from Orihime and asked me to take care of her… He was injured, though not badly. There was one of Ishida's arrows in his shoulder. But what did she say?"

"Rukia said that Byakuya was telling everyone else he was dead," Ichigo murmured thoughtfully, "And she wouldn't lie to me… did Chizuru maybe lie to the council?"

"Or the council is lying to the village to keep order. If panic broke out, people would start leaving the village and business would plunge; a lot more people could die. I think we should wait and see what happens," Tatsuki whispered back, "We have to trust them… we can't do much else at this point."

"Does Orihime know he's alive? Why would he hide from her?"

"That's what I really wanted to talk about… I think he's trying to purposely distance himself from her… so I'm not going to tell her," Tatsuki said this with a steely glint of determination in her eyes, "I think that would be for the best."

How often she had used that phrase concerning Orihime. 'For the best'…. But according to whom?

"I suppose," Ichigo said, not arguing, mostly because arguing with Tatsuki was pointless, "but what do we do if he comes back?"

"I doubt he will," the dark haired girl muttered, "I'll talk to you later… and if you see Chizuru, make it so that we can talk. I have something I want to ask her."

Ichigo recognized the look in Tatsuki's eye. The only thing she would be 'asking' would be if Chizuru was still alive after having been beaten so badly by the marshal brunette.

"Alright," the red headed young man sighed, "Goodnight, Tatsuki."

"Good night, Ichigo."

….

Orihime heard the door to Tatsuki's home slide shut as her friend returned. She _hadn't _been asleep; how could she sleep, when she knew that Ulquiorra was…

The blind girl held her breath and covered her ears, lying on the ground in the fetal position, trying to stem the pain, remembering something Ulquiorra had said when she had gone to visit him one time of many.

_"The weak cling to things and give out what they call their 'heart' freely. But what becomes of them when the thing they love most is torn away? What then, becomes of their heart?"_

His voice echoed in her mind, and though she had her ears covered tightly, she fancied she could hear him speaking aloud. Was she weak? She was a strong woman, she supposed; many would have broken completely, lost their spirit after all she had gone through. Truthfully, her smile, her bubbly mask, was only half the truth. Deep down she was always crying, so lonely, lonely, _lonely_… but then there was Ulquiorra, who understood but did not pity her. Ulquiorra who saw beyond her mask. He saw beyond, witnessed her flaws, and he loved her all the same.

And she had loved him in return.

She had shared her heart with him, and he had left her behind. Everyone she truly _loved_ had always gone on without her.

It hurt. Her chest hitched, and she really did wonder… what had become of her heart? The space where it should have been ached emptily inside of her, and then she decided: it was gone. Ulquiorra had gone away without her, and her heart had gone with him.

She would never love again.

…..

Chizuru swallowed, trembling on the doorstep of Tatsuki's home. She knew Orihime was there, just beyond the sliding door… she reached forward with shaking fingers, touching the wooden frame before allowing her hand to fall back to her side. She couldn't do it. She couldn't face Orihime.

She had done it to _protect _her! She had done the right thing, so why did it feel so _wrong_? The guilt was eating at her, she didn't even know why. Her breathing caught in her throat as a sob slipped through the walls; her princess was crying.

Chizuru pressed her fingers into the crevasse in the door and pushed it open, the light _klatta-tmp_ of its passage falling on deaf ears, her guilt-stricken frame reflected in blind eyes, her gentle touch passing over unfeeling flesh; Orihime lay on her side, curled in a ball, senseless to Chizuru. The roan haired girl knelt for a long time, her fingers running through Orihime's hair, before she began to speak in a choking tone.

"I'm so sorry, Hime," she whispered, her voice and breath passing painfully by the lump in her throat. Tears spattered onto the rush mats and the colorful kimono that covered the girl as Chizuru swallowed, feeling less fear now and more guilt, remorse, pain.

"I just didn't know what to _do_," she wept over the girl with flaming locks, "I was so scared for you… I just wanted to keep you safe! I did this for you Hime! I did everything for you."

"Chizuru," this voice was low and hard, gritting against a hard surface of fury. The intruder started, looking up with her tear-damp gaze.

"Tatsuki," she cried, scrambling to her feet with backward momentum and nearly falling as she gained her balance, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-"

"What are you doing here?" Tatsuki snapped, "You think apologizing is going to fix what you've done?"

"I only wanted to help, I didn't want her to get hurt-"

"You're a _disgrace_!" the brunette snarled, "Help? You've done nothing but cause her more pain! And not only her! What about Kobayashi's family? What of Ren's father? What about Ishida? They say he may never be able to write or draw a bow again! What about the rest of the people who are going to _die _because of what you've done? You don't just have a demon's blood on your hands, Chizuru. You have the blood of the villagemen, your _kin_, staining you!"

"No…" the girl gasped, "No, I don't, it wasn't my fault, _he _killed them, it was _him_!"

"He _defended _himself! Who lead the people to kill him, Chizuru? It's your fault they died."

"No, I _didn't_, I _didn't_!"

"If I see you touching Orihime with those filthy murderer's hands, I will strike you where you stand." Tatski said blackly, "For you are unchanged and unrepentant, and therefore undeserving of any forgiveness you may have received. Now get out and do not show your face to her again."

"Tatsuki, listen-" Chizuru pleaded, her face displaying display, horror, denial, so much pain… and hatred. She hated herself, but she hated that demon more. And in some small part of herself she hated Orhime for being so stupid as to fall for a demon and drive her to this.

"Get _OUT_!" The brunette roared, and Chizuru turned on heel, angry tears welling in her eyes, and fled back into the night, leaving Orihime where she lay.

"…heart…" the red head murmured, eyes glazed and ears covered.

Tatsuki took up Chizuru's place of vigil and began detangling the burnished copper strands of hair that fell across the rushes.

"Things will get better," she said to her friend aloud. He did the right thing, leaving her to remain among humans, she thought, but in the quietness of her heart, in the truest part of herself, she cursed Ulquiorra for running from his responsibilities to her friend.

Ulqiorra's heartbeat pounded in his ears, a lighter counter rhythm that backed the heavier tattoo of his wing strokes. It was early dawn now; he had been flying, with only a minimal amount of rest, for almost three days. With every beat of his wings, the arrow shaft buried in the soft flesh between the ball socket of his shoulder and the edge of his collar bone tore deeper with its iron barbs. His other wounds had all healed long ago; he prided himself in that particular ability. However, the arrow had lodged in his bones in such a way that he could not remove the shaft himself, and thus his body had no room to regenerate. The bleeding stopped for periods of time as blood vessels capped themselves, but it always began again at some point.

His own blood had painted his stark white torso black-red, he noted as his tail fluttered behind him the slipstream of his flight, a black pennant in the wind as the sanguine dried unevenly across his skin. The wound hurt him, but not nearly as much as the woman's cry.

Her tears had been acid, her scream a wicked pointed spear; her every breath had caused him unbearable agony, and had it not been for the discipline ingrained within every fiber of his being, he would have gone back to her.

Instead he flew on. He had to. If he went back to the village, he'd have to kill every one of them, or let himself die. He wondered when he had changed so much. At one point, the death of the trash would not have bothered him… but the thought of the woman looking at him with disgust, hatred, or outright horror in her blank gaze was unacceptable. It was better like this.

The swordsmith had been right.

He had hurt her.

"What's going on?" Tatsuki asked the man standing next to her as the sun rose at her back the next morning, finding her way blocked by a large, very angry crowd.

"The council has given the order for the arrest of Chizuru under murder charges," the man said fearfully, justified fury and a strangely servile anxiety clashing in his trembling tone, "Not that she doesn't deserve it, but she _did _get rid of the demon…"

"The question is," Tatsuki replied, "was it worth ridding the forest of a single demon in exchange for a dozen souls?"

"Precisely," the man rejoined, "although to have her executed seems…"

"Executed?" The brunette woman barked sharply.

"Well yes," the man, who she now recognized as the town's assistant physician, Hanatarou, answered, "I would know that the damages received by the injured were terrible…" he swallowed, and steel came into his tone, "the demon would have been better left unprovoked."

"I agree. When will the execution take place?" Tatsuki asked this, her heart thudding hard against her chest; she might have been furious with Chizuru, but they had been childhood _friends_… for her life to end in disgrace, like a common criminal…

"There will, of course, be a trial first. But I cannot see any other way for this to change her fate. Listen; the townspeople cry out for her blood. The bereaved want their retribution."

"Indeed," Tatsuki murmured quietly, "so they do."

_How much bloodshed will there be before this ends?_ The martial girl thought in despair, _How much longer until things can return to normal and we can return to peace?_

_ How much longer until Orihime can smile without looking like she's actually in agony?_

…..

_-Approximately six months later-_

Orihime kept her face angled down toward the cobbles that she was treading over, her shoulders heavy with sorrow that clung to her even now. Summer was beginning to rise to its peak, but the sun beating down on her seemed to throw out no heat. Her body was warm, yes, but she felt hollow. She had known the feeling would never really pass, but she had hoped that it would at least fade… she longed to feel his cold, long fingers in her hand again. She slowed her unsteady gait and closed her eyes, not that it made a difference. She gave a slightly bitter smirk as she opened her lids to the exact same darkness as before.

No difference.

"Orihime?"

"Hm…?" she answered distractedly, halting in her path. She actually hadn't been paying attention to where she had been going, and now had no idea where she was.

"What are you doing all the way out here?"

She recognized the voice to be Ishida's, and she gave him a sad little smile; no, more of a travesty of a smile. She wasn't sure that she really remembered what it was like to be truly happy, but she kept her cracked, broken mask up any way.

"I'm not quite sure," she answered, "I was just… thinking."

"I see," the scribe murmured, "Well, if you need anything, Orihime, you know that you can rely on me."

"Thank you," she replied. After a pause, she asked him, "Where am I, exactly?"

"We're by the prison," he answered her, slowly. She had changed, ever since she had met that demon, he thought. She was so absent minded, so _sad_…

"Is that so?"

"Chizuru…. She'll die here tomorrow, did you know."

"Is that so…?" Orihime repeated more slowly; Ishida stared at her, upset by what he saw. Externally, she was fine, still the same, fiery haired beauty, but her spirit was gone. She didn't smile as often, and her passion had gone from what she did. She tried, he knew, because she didn't want them to worry, but any time she thought she was alone, she dropped her attempt at a smile and simply remained still, face blank and empty. She had the same detached look about her now as she turned her face toward him, staring him directly in the face, a gaze without sight.

"Would you guide me back to Tatsuki's house?" she asked quietly.

"Of course," the scribe replied, "But you will have to stay on my left side, my right arm is still… delicate."

Orihime heard the bitterness in his tone and gave a wan smile, hardly more than a twitching at the corner of her mouth; it occurred to Ishida that since the demon's disappearance, Orihime had taken on a bit of his visage and demeanor, becoming more shut off and staring into nothingness with half lidded eyes and a melancholy expression.

"Remember, master scribe," she told him softly, a hint of a hard edge in her voice, "it was you who fired on him first."

Ishida didn't answer, and the pair of them walked back to Tatsuki's house hand in hand.

Despite the lack of words, and the obvious deterioration of the beautiful woman at his side, Ishida felt unaccountably happy in her presence.

….

"We are gathered here to witness the death of a murderer who brought down nigh on a dozen of our countrymen, friends, and family members; let her shame be known throughout the land. Let it be so."

"Let it be," the crowd chorused from before the high wooden stage where the roan haired woman knelt. Her locks were dirty and lusterless, her kimono torn and stained, her skin darkened with filth, but her eyes darted constantly through the crowd, searching, searching… was it possible that she wasn't there?

She was dragged roughly to her feet, staggering forward until she stood directly beside Yamamoto Genryusai, the man who was to kill her. He was ancient, his white beard falling to his waist; despite his age, he stood tall, garbed in a fine kosode that was stitched with gold thread. Over this he wore a lacquered breastplate, and hanging from his obi was his sheathed katana, the very same weapon that had made him a war hero and a founder of the village so long ago.

It was an honor to be struck down by such a sword as that.

But still her eyes raked the crowd… there! No, that was only Ichigo… he didn't matter. She had something important to tell Orihime. So, _so _important… well, she'd say it for everyone else, if her princess wasn't there. Someone would tell her the news.

"On your knees," Yamamoto commanded, and Chizuru complied with some difficulty. Her hands were tied behind her, and her fingers numb. Many people who were near death said that their lives flashed before their eyes… it was not so for Chizuru. There was nothing in her mind; every thought had run through her head a thousand times or more while she waited in her prison cell. Her heart had bled dry of fear, of regret, of anger, and of remorse. She was empty. The only thing she wanted now was to deliver her message and die.

In death, there would be peace. Or perhaps hell, but she no longer could bring herself to care. Whatever came to pass, it would be so.

Let it be.

"If you have any last words that you wish to make known, Chizuru Honsho, only daughter to the late Akira Honsho, let them be spoken now." Yamamoto told her quietly. She looked up into his face and saw no hatred. There was only ancient wisdom and a strange form of pity there.

There! Orihime, in the center of the crowd. She was turning away now, starting to push her way out of the mass of bodies, but it was definitely her. That mane of fire could not belong to anyone else.

"The Morobito," Chizuru began, "Is a horrible thing. Pale and cold… horns, wings, claws… a perfect devil."

"If you are going to extol your bravery in killing it, then you may as well be silent, daughter of Akira," Yamamoto rumbled.

"I wasn't finished, Lord. He is a terrible thing, but my princess loves him, and so I tell her this. Orihime!" Chizuru called, and the red head halted for a second before pushing on, "Orihime listen! He's not dead!"

The girl stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face the stage.

"I didn't kill him," the woman said more quietly, but loud enough so that her voice reached her princess. If nothing else, she wanted Orihime to happy when she was gone, "Ulquiorra is not dead. He flew away, on the wings of a bat and dissapeared. He is strong enough not to have died from his injuries."

"He's alive…" Orihime whispered to herself, clouded eyes wide as she clutched her hand to the neckline of her kimono, "He's alive, he's _alive_!"

There was heat building in her chest; she was so happy, so relieved, so grateful. All the sorrow that had been crushing her beneath its weight simply fell away, and she felt like screaming in joy. That hollow place in her chest was filling again, a rising tide of such utter elation swelling and restoring her heart.

But… Chizuru would die. Orihime had hated her for the last two seasons, for killing Ulquiorra… but she hadn't done that. He was alive. She had caused the lives of others to end, but even criminals deserved to have some comfort in their last moments. If their friendship of before meant nothing now, it was worthless. The back of Orihime's throat burned with the same heat as in her chest as she felt water well up in her eyes and start to spill.

"Yes," Chizuru gave a sad smile, and a single tear slipped along her cheek, "He is alive, but I myself must make my exit."

"Chizuru-"

"Don't forget about me, princess," her smile fell, and her lip trembled, "I tried to do the right thing for you… I'm sorry things ended up this way."

Orihime took a step forward and gave one of her gentle smiles; a true smile, full of warmth and life. Her darkened gaze sparkled with salt water as she gazed blankly up at Chizuru.

"Thank you," she choked, a bit of a sob hanging in her voice, "Thank you Chizuru. It will be alright. Everything… everything will be alright."

Chizuru closed her eyes on that smile. Orihime was being strong and trying not to cry for her… a good send off, all considered.

She heard the blade whistle down, felt barely an instant of pain… Her last thoughts were of Orihime.

"Orihime, you _can't _do this," Ichigo reasoned, "How will you find your way? How will you get money, or food, or find a place to stay? Please… don't do this."

"I'm shocked to hear myself say this, but I agree with Kurosaki," Ishida gritted, sending a glare at the hot headed boy, "At least take one of us with you,"

Orihime smiled and shook her head as she tied clean white linen about her head, covering the stark silver eyes and wicked scars.

"When I said I had to go look for him, I meant _I _had to go look for him. I can't just drag one of you away from your family and work, that would be too selfish of me," She turned toward the group that had come to see her off as she shouldered a sling-like bag of supplies, "It will all work out somehow… I can tell stories by the roadside to make money, I guess."

"Orihime… this is dangerous," Tatsuki sounded so upset, hurt even, that Orihime immediately wanted to run to her and give her any comfort she could. She stopped herself however; she couldn't bring herself to give Tatsuki false hope of her remaining in the village. She would never be able to stay, not now that she knew somewhere, maybe very far away from the spot on which she stood, Ulquiorra was out there; the two of them were under the same sky, and no matter the distance between them, Orihime would cross it, and find him.

She hoped.

She stepped forward, and found Tatsuki's hands, clasping them in her own before she gave in, dragging her friend forward into a desperate hug of affection.

"I'll miss you, Tatsuki," she whispered, "I'll miss everyone, but mostly you. I love you, Tatsuki. I'll always think of you as my sister. One day, when I find him, we might be able to come back."

"Orihime," Tatsuki choked, a single drop of saline water landing on Orihime's cheek as her friend began to cry, "Please don't go. At least take me with you. What if you get attacked, or robbed, or lost, or…"

"Don't be like this, Tatsuki," Orihime said softly as she pulled away, reaching up to wipe her friend's cheek free of dampness, "You'll make me cry too."

Tatsuki didn't answer, but Orihime could hear her sobbing quietly into her hands.

"I-… I'm off, everyone."

"Good luck," Ichigo said roughly, and Orihime had to smile a bit as he tried to cover up his anxiety.

"Be safe, Orihime," Ishida sighed, "You're a stubborn woman, so I think you'll find him eventually."

"This is the last time I'll see you…" Tatsuki sniffed, "I really don't want you to go. But you will anyway, because you need to…"

"Don't think of it as the last time we'll meet," Orihime called over her shoulder as she stepped onto the forest path, a long branch, tipped with metalwork done by Ichigo, in her hand to guide her, "We don't know what the future holds."

"That's what scares me," Tatsuki murmured sadly, "Come back to us some day Orihime. Just to let us know that you're okay. Please."

"I will," the fire haired girl rejoined, "I promise.

…

Dry leaves crackled beneath a woman's worn sandals as she made her way into a moderately sized city, crossing off of the path that was sheltered by the dying trees of autumn and onto a cobbled street, her iron-tipped staff sweeping the way in front of her. Her eyes gleamed the same color as the clouded fall sky, a soft gray-blue that was marred only by the scars that stood out from her skin at the corners of her eyes.

She had been searching for a few months, crossing from city to city, sometimes with company to pass the miles with, and other times completely alone. She decided that she quite liked traveling; even though she was blind, there was so much to discover beyond the borders of her home. Still, she was a bit disappointed, discouraged even, not to have found her quarry yet.

Not that she hadn't heard tell of him, no. She had been following a trail of rumors and hearsay ever since she had crossed into the northern part of the country. It made for difficult travel, but the colder climate reminded her of him.

Orihime hefted her bag, weighted with coins gained from her story-weaving in other regions, and continued on her way before she found her path to be blocked by a crowd. The chatter around her was loud, and judging by the heavy, booming sounds ahead, there was a wooden bridge coming up before her, a large one.

The rush of the water was barely discernible over the roar of the people as the red haired woman pushed her way through them, eventually coming to the other side with some difficulty. She puffed out the breath that she had been holding, sighing with relief now that she was free of the mass of bodies that stumbled her with every step.

The talk around her seemed excited now, and she listened closely, wanting to know the reason for the joy in the tones of the people.

"He's going to play now!"

"Hush, hush, let the master do his work."

"He's a strange one, but his music is beautiful."

"If he _is _a demon, he's not the bad kind, I think."

"Look, he's starting!"

"Hush!"

And then she heard it.

The song. _His _song.

The familiar notes of a shamisen began to rise on the stiff autumn breeze, floating with the unearthly grace that only music could grant, and she could do nothing but stand there, letting the sad, heartbreakingly sweet melody wash over her. Her lips trembled for a moment before she could speak. What if it wasn't him? What if, by strange coincidence, there was another who knew this tune? What if, what if, what if?

"Ulquiorra," his name dropped from her mouth as the barest hint of a whisper. She could hardly stand it, her heart was thrumming in her chest, her hands were shaking… it took her a moment to realize that the music had stopped. There was a murmur from the crowd and a sudden rushing rustle from the front.

Her staff fell from her nerveless fingers as she found her wrist caught in a steely, frozen grip, her body dragged forward into an equally cold body garbed in rough fabric that scratched her cheek as she buried her face in a familiar chest, inhaling before she had enough breath to sob, clutching herself to him.

Ulquiorra.

Jade eyes the color of spring leaves and swamp moss, verdant eyes with a snake like quality to them gazed blankly at the red of the woman's hair as if fell across the pure white of his exposed arm and held her closer, an tidal wave of emotion rising in his chest such as he had never felt before; such emotion as this, that felt like he might burst, was perhaps what the humans called happiness.

Those eyes marked again the red locks on white flesh… the colors of oblivion.

**A/N: Just a few more things before you go…. Now that you've finished the story, please tell me what you think! The next couple of stories I will be putting out are a request fic, a humor/romance/criminal/suspense thing for Soi Fon and Ggio Vega pairing if you are interested in that, and it will be titled **_**Family Jewels**_** with a sort of… double meaning. After that will be another Ulquihime fic, called simply **_**1918, **_**and based in England, the year 1918… Ulquiorra being a young Spanish immigrant fleeing the Spanish Influenza and Orihime being a grieving young girl who lost her older brother in WWI. Sooo… I take my leave of you all. Thanks again, it has been a pleasure writing this! :3**

**-M.S.**


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